Modern Warfare 2 : Task Force 141
by LoneGuard
Summary: They are the Task Force 141, an elite, multinational special operations force comprised of the best soldiers in the world. Their mission, to neutralize Vladimir Makarov, a dangerous and blood-thirsty extremist, infamously known as the Shadow of Zakhaev.
1. Prologue: No Russian

**Prologue: No Russian**

**08: 40**

**PFC Joseph Allen a.k.a Alexei Borodin**

**Zakhaev International Airport**

**Moscow, Russia **

"Remember - no Russian." said Makarov, just as the elevator door hissed open.

Together, the five men strode out of the elevator, each armed with a weapon. Kiril had a Striker, Lev carried an MP5k and Viktor and Makarov were both armed with an M4A1. Joseph Allen carried a M240 Light Machine Gun, and from the outside, was a picture of calmness and indifference. From the inside, fear and anxiety ruled, and his heart thumped with every step.

The five men stood side by side in a line, facing the throng of unsuspecting civilians at the airport security checkpoint. It had been a normal day at Zakhaev International Airport.

Until now.

As one, the five men raised their weapons and fired. At the same time, a cold winter engulfed Allen's heart. An impressive barrage of fire blasted through the groups of civilians, sending many of them to their deaths. Red liquid exploded and spurted everywhere. A few lucky civilians were wounded but not quite dead yet, and were now running for their lives, screaming all the while. Still firing, Allen aimed his weapon at one of them, struggling against its yammering recoil. His victim slumped to the ground just as the bullets rammed into him.

Allen turned to see that the other men – _no, the other terrorists _– had already taken care of the rest of the civilians. Nearly a hundred bodies lay at the ground before them. The scene before them was a perfect description of a bloodbath.

_Murderer._

Allen's knees nearly gave way, he was ready to puke, and his hands were shaking violently. He was surprised that he could still hold on to his weapon. Oh yes, Private First Class Joseph Allen had killed before. He had been through countless battles at hot spots all over the Middle East. He had run down the streets of Afghanistan with his brothers and comrades, shooting down men with an assault rifle. He had taken lives, and he had seen lives being taken.

But this…this was _inhumane._

Quickly, Allen forced those thoughts out of his mind, just as he had done last night, as he lay on his bed unable to sleep. He willed his body to remain strong, just as he willed his facial expression to change to a neutral, indifferent one. He had mentally prepared for this, and he was not going to fail.

_If I don't do this, more people are going to die by this man._

Despite his best efforts, a cold pit of fear lingered in him.

Unperturbed, Makarov signaled for the terrorists to move forward. He cast a questioning look at Allen, who was falling behind.

"Anything wrong, Alexei?"

Allen reacted quickly. With another ounce of willpower, he kicked the body of a nearby civilian, and shrugged.

"Just making sure she's dead."

_Keep up the pretense. Until he trusts you. Then you can blow the son of a bitch's head off._

Makarov smirked and continued moving. As one, the five terrorists strolled through the metal detectors, ignoring their warning shrills, and continued to execute civilians. Three security guards suddenly emerged from a nearby office, aiming their guns at the terrorists and screaming for them to surrender. Makarov casually lifted his rifle and ended their lives.

The terrorists continued advancing throughout the airport, killing civilians all the way. There was constant screaming from the civilians. Some of the more heroic ones tried to drag their wounded friends and families to safety, while the cowardly ones turned and fled or raised their arms in surrender. Either way, they all died. They passed a few eateries and shops, and also encountered another group of security guards, who were finished off quickly.

With each kill, Allen pictured Makarov in his mind.

_It will cost you a piece of yourself. It will cost nothing com__pared to everything you'll save, _the General had told him during the mission briefing.

Finally, they had reached the exit of the airport terminal. In just ten minutes, hundreds of innocent civilians had been murdered. Allen pretended to check one of the bodies, and took the moment to steady himself once more. Behind them was a trail of several hundred bodies.

Outside the airport, armoured vans arrived, and Russian FSB troops streamed out.

"They're right on time. Check your weapons and ammo." Makarov ordered.

Allen threw the M240 to the ground, and pulled the M4A1 rifle from his back into his hands. The M4A1 came with a M203 grenadier attachment, which would be far more useful against FSB troops with riot shields than the M240. Similarly, the rest of the group made their own adjustments to their weapons.

"I've waited a long time for this." the normally silent Viktor proclaimed, sadistic delight lighting up on his face.

Makarov smiled, a rare event for a man like him.

"Haven't we all."

Allen switched off the safety catch of his weapon, and took point, advancing down a flight of stairs towards the FSB troops. He led the group to a nearby warehouse and prepared to engage the FSB troops.

Makarov had filled him in on the tactics of the FSB the day before. As expected, the FSB troops put up a huge smokescreen, before advancing forward with their riot shields.

Lev and Kiril put down suppressing fire on the FSB troops, distracting them, as Allen switched to the M203, and fired a grenade into the middle of the FSB troops. The explosion rocked the troops, and sent several of them flying off in pieces. Those further away from the group merely stumbled, but were picked off with accurate shots by Viktor and Makarov.

Wasting no time, they rushed forward and took cover just in time as another wave of FSB troops arrived and opened fire. Utilizing the same tactic as before, the group put down suppressing fire as Allen launched several grenades towards the FSB troops, blasting them to oblivion.

Just as things were looking fine, a barrage of fire erupted from above. Instinctively, Allen dived for cover behind a jet engine of a nearby plane, the bullets missing him by mere inches. He saw that Vikor and Makarov were unscathed, taking cover behind a wall, while Kiril had a gunshot wound on his shoulder and was lying prone underneath an FSB armoured van. Lev lay on the tarmac, a pool of blood surrounding him.

"Man down! Contact, second floor windows!" Viktor shouted in a forced American accent above the loud gunfire. Allen grabbed a riot shield from a dead FSB troop nearby and rushed out into the open, drawing fire from the troops above. The impact from the bullets nearly caused Allen to fall backwards, but he steadied his stance and persevered on. Taking the signal, Makarov and Viktor fired several rounds into the second floor. Kiril crawled out from under the vehicle, but before he could assist, he was shot in the back, emitting a loud cry of pain.

Hurriedly, Allen moved to Kiril's position, guarding himself with the riot shield all the while, and dragged Kiril behind a nearby metal crate. The man's breath was laboured, and he looked to be near his death. It occurred to Allen that this was not one of his Ranger buddies who had just been shot. This was a terrorist, a murderer who had killed hundreds of innocent people back at the airport. Suddenly, Allen didn't feel like helping the man anymore.

"He's dead, leave him!" Makarov barked. Allen turned to see that the second floor was clear. He moved to join Makarov and Viktor, just as another armoured van sped towards them. The van stopped and its doors clambered open. Allen and Viktor prepared to fire their weapons, but before the troops inside could get out, Makarov tossed a cooked grenade into the van, which exploded just as it entered the van. A few bodies flew out, and the van was splattered with red blood. Just to be sure, Makarov threw another grenade into the van, and stalked off, smirking to himself.

"Thirty seconds. Go." Makarov ordered, and the three of them rushed towards one of the exit buildings.

A wave of relief hit Allen. It was all going to be over soon.

The three of them lined up beside the door, with Makarov in front, Allen in the middle and Viktor at the back. The barrel of Allen's gun was inches away from Makarov's back.

A thought occurred to Allen.

He could end it right here. All it would take was one pull of the trigger…

_The General said not to kill him yet. But why not__? I could end everything right now…_

He made his decision and prepared to pull the trigger, when Makarov suddenly moved and kicked the door open.

"Alexei, take point."

Allen moved through the door, weapon raised. He scanned the hallway as he moved forward, towards the ambulance at the end waiting for them.

The ambulance doors opened as they approached and inside was Anatoly, another one of Makarov's accomplices.

"You sent a strong message with this attack, Makarov." Anatoly said.

Makarov motioned to Allen, and ordered, "Cover us while we get in."

Allen obeyed, aiming his gun at the entrance as Viktor and Makarov clambered into the ambulance. Once they were in, he turned and proceeded to join them.

"That was no messsage," Makarov said, as he helped Allen up.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and Allen felt a burning sensation in his torso. He looked down and saw blood gushing out of the wound. In Makarov's other hand was a M9 pistol.

"_This _is a message." Makarov smiled as he casually pushed Allen back down to the ground.

"How…?" Allen uttered as he looked up at Makarov from the floor, who had already turned away and was closing the ambulance doors. The ambulance drove off, passing several unsuspecting FSB troops who were closing in on Allen. He tried to push himself up, but he was too weak.

_So this is how it ends. __Hundreds of innocent people died, my cover was blown, even though I don't know how, and Makarov escapes._

He almost laughed, but blood spurted out of his mouth. After a few moments, his vision faded to black, and Joseph Allen, former Army Ranger and current CIA agent, was no more.

* * *

First chapter of my first fanfic. Hope it wasn't too bad. I was afraid that the action scenes would be monotonous, but I think I did okay.


	2. Preparations

**Chapter 1 : Preparations**

The briefing room was quiet. At the head of the table sat General Shepherd, his brow furrowed into a frown. His piercing eyes gazed into the distance, as if he was contemplating something which only he knew about. He was, as many said, a changed man. After the infamous nuclear explosion five years ago which wiped out 30,000 Marines, something in Shepherd had snapped. He was never the same man again.

At his left sat Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. His medium length ginger hair was messy as usual. His eyes betrayed no emotion, and he sat relaxed, but ready to spring into action at a second's notice. Despite being in civilian clothes, he still carried a G18 pistol and a combat knife.

Next to Ghost sat "Royce", a black-haired man with a goatee. Across Royce was "Meat" who was discreetly fiddling with his pistol.

The door to the briefing room suddenly opened, and two men strode in.

The first man was John "Soap" Mactavish, although he never told anyone in the Task Force about his nickname. He'd learned his lesson after being ridiculed about it during his first day at the SAS. Besides, he was the _Captain _of the Task Force; it would do not good to be disrespected by his men because of a stupid nickname. At six foot 2 inches and weighing 220 pounds, Soap was a hulking figure. He was all muscle, with only five percent body fat, and possessing a musculature equivalent to a professional football player. His head was shaved bare save for a Mohawk, and a few scars were present on his face. His eyes were hard. The man had witnessed more horrors than any man ever should.

The second man was smaller. Gary "Roach" Sanderson stood at five foot ten inches, and weighed 165 pounds. He had brown, medium-length hair, and brown eyes to match. His face was clean, without any deformities. Boyish and handsome, he didn't look like a hardened SpecOps soldier at all. But when he wasn't looking at anything in particular, his eyes would glaze over, and they would have that same haunted look that all combat veterans possessed.

At the appearance of the two men, General Shepherd stood and said, "Mactavish. I heard you were successful in your mission to retrieve the ACS."

Mactavish replied, "As always, sir."

"Good job. You too, Sanderson. Now please, sit, and we can begin."

The two men saluted, and moved to their seats.

* * *

Roach got into the seat next to Mactavish, who was sitting directly to the right of General Shepherd. He acknowledged the rest of the Task Force members with terse nods. There would be time for talk later; now they all had to focus.

"Now, you two were in Russia for the past few days, so you're unaware of what's happened," Shepherd began, indicating both Mactavish and Roach.

They both nodded. It was true. They had spent the past few days deep in the Tian Shan Mountain range, without any contact with anyone besides each other. Their mission had been to retrieve an American ACS module from the Russians. They were fortunate to have been inserted halfway up the mountain, but still they took two tiring and cold days to climb to the top, before finally entering the secluded Russian base. Evading Russian soldiers all the way, Roach had found the ACS. Unfortunately, they were compromised after that, and they fought their way out, before using snow mobiles to escape down the mountain to the extraction point, all the while being pursued by enemy soldiers.

It had been exhausting, and after the mission, Roach had been hoping to be able to simply drop onto his bed and sleep. But when they reached the submarine, which was the Task Force's headquarters, they had been told that General Shepherd had summoned them to the briefing room for a new mission upon hearing of their arrival. After a change of clothes, the two had immediately headed there.

"I'll let the video do the talking." Shepherd pressed a few keys onto the computer.

Within moments, something showed up on the screen in front. Roach realized it was a news report.

The news caster was saying, "_…Zakhaev International Airport in Moscow came under fire from armed men. The amount of casualties has been estimated to be around several hundred. Security footage revealed that one of the men involved in this chilling display of violence was Vladimir Makarov, infamous terrorist and extremist._"

The screen now showed footage of five men strolling casually in the airport, firing their guns all the while. In the middle was indeed, Vladimir Makarov. Roach had seen his pictures and heard the man being discussed so many times that he would recognize the man anywhere. In fact, the entire Task Force 141 had been created by General Shepherd based on the single need to stop Makarov once and for all.

Roach watched in horror at the footage of Makarov and his men slaughtering screaming civilians.

_That bastard's out of control…_

He looked over to Mactavish to gauge his reaction, but the Captain was unreadable.

The news caster continued, "_Russian FSB troops were wiped out after facing off against Makarov and his men,_" just as the footage changed to show one of Makarov's accomplices firing a grenade from a M203 grenade launcher. The grenade exploded and sent several Russian troops flying.

"_Among the casualties, the Russian police have found three men who were believed to have been Makarov's accomplices. What is most shocking of all is that the Russian police claims to have found an American citizen as being part of Makarov's group,_"

The screen changed to show an image of a young Caucasian male. He had brown hair and eyes, much like Roach himself, and he was handsome too. Roach estimated his age to be around 22.

"_Investigations reveal that Joseph Allen was a Private First Class in the 75__th__ Ranger Regiment. The man has no history of any acts of terrorism. Investigations are still being done regarding the matter. However, the Russian President, Boris Vorshevsky, spoke out against the US yesterday, claiming that the US assisted Vladimir Makarov in this horrific attack. Tensions are currently high, but our President has assured us that discussions are underway, and that the situation will not come to war._"

Shepherd stopped the footage.

Roach looked down, trying to process everything. It had been shocking news indeed. The first question that came to his mind was, who the hell was Joseph Allen, and what the fuck had he been doing there.

Shepherd appeared to have anticipated that question.

"Joseph Allen was a CIA operative serving under me. I tasked him with infiltrating Makarov's inner circle, and was hoping that he could be the one to stop Makarov. Unfortunately, it seems I was wrong. However, we _were_ able to recover footage of Allen's death." He was pacing as he spoke.

Shepherd walked up to the computer, and loaded another video.

In the second video, Makarov and his men seemed to be escaping in an ambulance. Roach now recognized one of Makarov's accomplices as Joseph Allen. The man had changed his appearance dramatically, but under close observation, it was apparent that the man was Allen. Roach watched as Makarov helped Allen up into the ambulance, before firing a bullet into Allen's torso. Allen fell to the ground, and the ambulance sped away.

"So Makarov knew all along that Allen was working undercover." Mactavish concluded.

Shepherd nodded. "Unfortunately, it appears so. Allen was a highly trained CIA operative, so I doubt Makarov saw through him. Someone must have tipped him off. As for who, I do not yet. But right now, your main objective is to prove America's innocence. Makarov was one move ahead, now he's left thousands of bodies at the feet of an American."

The room was suddenly tense. They all knew what this meant.

Ghost nodded. "The Russians aren't let this massacre go unanswered. Its gonna' get bloody,"

Mactavish replied, "Too right, mate. Now in the eyes of the world, they're the victims. No one's gonna' say a word when the Russians club every American they can reach."

_A war between Russia and America…?_

Roach couldn't imagine the amount of devastation it would bring. When two powerful countries fought, things usually didn't turn out well.

"We're the only ones who knew it was Makarov's op. Our credibility died with Allen. We need proof." Mactavish continued, frowning.

Shepherd pressed a few keys, and a photograph of a white-skinned man appeared. The man was fairly unremarkable. His expression in the photograph was neutral, and he didn't possess any striking features. A cap covered his head.

Roach had no idea who the man was.

"Alejandro Rojas." Shepherd stated.

Mactavish interjected. "Never heard of him."

Roach looked across the table and saw that none of the Task Force members showed any signs of knowing the man either.

"You know him as Alex the Red. He supplied the assault," Shepherd replied.

A flash of recognition showed in Mactavish's eyes, and Roach thought he saw Ghost shift slightly as well.

"The bullet that killed Allen? We traced it, all the way back to Rojas." Shepherd explained.

"One bullet to unleash the fury of a whole nation…which means…" Understanding flooded Mactavish's eyes.

"He's our ticket to Makarov." Finished Shepherd.

The screen flashed, displaying information about Rojas. The man had started off as a low level munitions clerk, and had quickly worked up the career ladder. In a few years, he was providing arms and weaponary for many terrorist organisations. The screen showed his latest known location to be Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. He was protected by the local militia. Roach had heard about them. They were, simply put, a bunch of gangsters and criminals with guns.

"So we go in there, grab the bastard and beat the answers out of his arse, right?" Ghost summed up.

Shepherd smiled. "That's the main idea. Get your gear and weapons ready. You leave in four hours."

* * *

Once the briefing was over, Roach walked out of the room, giving the thumbs down sign to Royce and Ghost that indicated that he needed sleep and was in no mood to talk.

_Four hours._

He moved to his room, got in, and fell onto the bed, falling asleep immediately.


	3. Takedown, Part 1

**Chapter 2 : Takedown, Part 1**

**15:08**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil**

"Any sign of Rojas's right-hand man?"

Ghost's voice rang through the Roach's headset.

"Negative. They've stopped twice already. No sign of him." Beside him, Captain Mactavish replied, a cigar in his hands. Unlike Roach, Mactavish had no headset, and wore an earpiece instead.

Roach stared at the white van ahead of them. Inside the van were several members of the local militia, who were currently their lead to Rojas. Through their investigations, the Task Force had found out that the local militia was currently in a dispute with Rojas's right-hand man, over some matters of payment. The plan was to tail them and hope they would lead them to Rojas's assistant. After that, they could beat Rojas's location out of him. After the plan was formulated, they had stolen two cars from the local neighbourhood and started scouting for some of the gang members. Roach and Mactavish had identified a group and were now tailing them, while Ghost, Royce and Meat were in another car following another group.

Roach checked his watch. They had been following these guys for nearly an hour now, and there had still been no sign of Rojas's assistant. Ghost's group didn't report any findings either. He sighed. He had expected that this would take some time, but still, he couldn't help but feel impatient.

"The lack of sleep getting to ya?" Mactavish suddenly asked.

Roach looked at his Captain. Come to think of it, it _was _the lack of sleep that was causing his moodiness. The city's warm temperature hadn't helped either.

"Patience, Roach. We'll get this guy soon enough." Mactavish said, with a rare smile.

Those were words of encouragement; not necessarily true, but Roach was grateful nevertheless.

"Well, I hope you're right, sir." He replied.

Roach turned the steering wheel as they approached a bend in the road, taking care not to get too close to the van. His spirits rose as the van started to slow.

"They're slowing down, sir." Roach said, excitement in his voice.

Mactavish nodded and spoke, "Ghost, they're stopping again. Standby."

The van stopped beside the entrance of a building.

_C'mon, show up, you bastard._

Roach stopped the car at the far end of the road, about 50 metres away from the van and scanned the streets. There were many people streaming about. They would have to be careful to avoid civilian casualties if a firefight ensured.

Roach watched as two gang members got out of the van and moved towards the building. The door to the building opened, and a bald, tanned man strode out.

"We've got him." Roach said, elated.

Mactavish was calmer. "Ghost, we've got a positive I.D. Whoever these guys are, they're not happy to see him."

The gang members were arguing with Rojas's right-hand man. Their body language was aggressive, their voices loud. Roach could lip-read, something which he picked up in his teenage years, but that wouldn't help him now. Besides English, he understood Arabic and Chinese, but he had no knowledge about the language of Brazil. In fact, he wasn't even sure what the official language of Brazil was.

_Portuguese, maybe?_

Roach wondered about that for a second, but decided he didn't really care. The important thing now was to move in and capture Rojas's right-hand man. He readied his ACR, switching off its safety catch, and checked that his sidearm, a Mini-Uzi, was secure in its holster. Mactavish did the same, tossing his cigar out of the car.

_Good riddance to that._

Personally, Roach hated it when anyone smoked. All it reminded him of was his damned alcoholic of a father. When his father wasn't drinking, he would be smoking. And when he wasn't smoking, he would be beating Roach. Roach never liked the man, and anyone who smoked only reminded him of his shitty childhood.

Still, Mactavish was his Captain, and he couldn't do a damn about him smoking. Besides, Mactavish was a mentor and a friend whom Roach respected, and had saved Roach's life countless times. That weighed a lot more than an annoying smoking habit.

Roach was ready to get out of the car when Rojas's right-hand man suddenly pulled out a gleaming Desert Eagle. In less than a second, he had fired and killed the two gang members. A third gang member scrambled out of the white van, ready to intervene, but a shot rang out and he slumped to the ground.

Then, unexpectedly, Rojas's right-hand man aimed at _him _and fired. Roach ducked behind the dashboard of the car, the bullet missing him by inches.

Mactavish had scrambled out of the car, and was shouting in his headset, "Ghost, we have a situation here!"

Roach peered over the edge of the dashboard, only to see that Rojas right-hand man was sprinting away, and had rounded a corner.

"He's getting away! Roach, let's go, let's go!" Mactavish ordered and dashed after Rojas's right-hand man.

_Makarov must have already warned Rojas about us._

Hurriedly, Roach got out the car and ran after Mactavish. Ahead, Rojas's right-hand man could be heard firing shots into the air, sending terrified civilians running in all directions. Roach and Mactavish bolted through the crowd, eyes scanning for Rojas's assistant. As they ran, Mactavish relayed instructions to Ghost.

"Ghost, we're on foot! He's heading towards the Hotel Rio, meet us there and cut him off if you can!"

A rather burly man nearly collided with Roach, but Roach shoved the man aside and continued running. A sudden movement caught his eye, and Roach spotted Rojas's assistant running into a secluded alley. Mactavish spotted him a moment later, and the two ran into the alley, Roach ahead of Mactavish.

The man had chosen a bad spot to run into. The alley was a long stretch of road, with no cover or bends. They could easily shoot him there.

"Roach – take the shot! Go for the leg!" Mactavish ordered, but Roach was already crouching, ready to shoot. There was a _thud _as his knee pad hit the floor, and Roach raised his ACR, looking through its ACOG sight.

He fired a single round into the man's right calf, and the man fell forward, face first. Roach grinned.

"Gotcha', you bastard." He muttered to himself.

He heard footsteps approaching and turned to see Ghost, Royce and Meat jogging towards them.

"Good shot, Roach." Ghost said. He was wearing his trademark skull-patterned balaclava which he wore on all missions. Covering his eyes were a pair of dark sunglasses. His face was completely hidden.

"Looks like you're the FNG no more, huh?" Royce said with a grin, and everyone laughed before turning towards Rojas's assistant.

The man was desperately crawling away, blood seeping out from where Roach shot him. When he fell, he had dropped his Desert Eagle, and it now lay a few feet away from him. Just as he was about to grab it, Mactavish lurched forward and stomped on the back of his head, smashing his face into the ground, before snatching the pistol away.

He kneeled down towards the man, and said, "You and I are going to have a little chat."

* * *

I decided to split the chapter into parts, because if I didn't, it would be a really long chapter comprised of mostly fighting scenes, which would be tedious to read. I hope I'm doing okay with my writing!

Thanks for the reviews, by the way.


	4. Takedown, Part 2

**Chapter 3 : Takedown, Part 2**

**15:21**

**Captain John "Soap" MacTavish**

**Task Force 141**

**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil**

Rojas's assistant shouted and screamed in Portuguese, desperately struggling in the chair, in which he was bound to by ropes. Annoyed, Mactavish pulled out his M1911 pistol and rammed it against the man's forehead.

"Shut the fuck up." Mactavish barked, and the man instantly quieted down.

The Task Force was in a garage not far from where they had apprehended Rojas's assistant. Roach, Royce and Meat sat in some chairs, waiting for their next order. They needed a place for the interrogation, and this place fit the bill. All it took was some lock picking, and the garage was theirs. Now they just had to keep the metal door to the garage locked as they interrogated Rojas's assistant, so that no one could come in and interfere.

A flash of fear appeared in Rojas's assistant's eyes as he saw Ghost readying some electrical cables. Ghost toyed with the cables, sending off sparks of electricity, and enjoying the fear it gave the man. Mactavish observed the man's body language. He was definitely scared and trying not to show it, but he wasn't entirely successful. Every time Ghost ignited electrical sparks with the cables, the man's body would jolt, and his eyes would widen. His body was tense, his breathing shallow.

Mactavish had interrogated lots of people in his military career. Some were difficult to break, while others, usually brash, tough-looking young men, were liable to shit in their pants before the interrogation even began. He had no doubt about which category Rojas's assistant belonged to.

_Good. This one won't be hard to crack._

_Still, it's gonna' take some time. And Rojas might already know that we have his assistant. If that's true, he'll try to get out of here as soon as possible. _

Rojas's assistant had been running towards the nearby favela when they pursued him, probably trying to get to Rojas and warn him. He decided to send Roach, Royce and Meat into the favela, just in case Rojas was already trying to escape.

He turned to them and said, "You three, go to the favela and look for any signs of Rojas. That's where this guy was headed. If you see Rojas, capture him, but use non-lethal means only. We need him alive."

The three of them nodded, and readied their weapons before heading out of the garage.

They were reliable men. Roach was the youngest and had the least experience, but the lad was dependable, and tough. Alejandro Rojas was their only lead to Makarov right now. They couldn't afford to lose him. Mactavish silently wished them luck and pulled down the garage doors, making sure to lock them.

He turned, and nodded to Ghost, who was making final adjustments to the electrical cables. The two of them advanced onto Rojas's assistant. Their shadows loomed over him, and man's face was ashen, his body vibrating uncontrollably.

Soon, a piercing scream flooded the garage.

* * *

**15: 27**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil**

Roach had been happy to have been grouped with Royce, but he wasn't pleased about Meat. After a few conversations with the short, stout Caucasian, he had declared the man to be an asshole. He liked to talk about meeting women in nightclubs and bars, and banging them against their will. After hearing him vaguely describe how he once "convinced" a certain girl to have sex with him, Roach suspected Meat to have raped her. Still, Meat was a tough fighter with years of experience, and was a highly effective soldier.

Royce, on the other hand, was the first Task Force 141 member Roach had befriended after entering the team. He was from the U.S. Army Special Forces, and was a quiet and solemn man. The two had formed a strong friendship over the past few months.

Taking charge, Royce led the group towards the favela, running across the alleys of Rio de Janeiro. They eventually reached an area overlooking the favela. It was huge, with self-constructed housing arranged in a disorganized manner. With a glance, it was possible to tell that the place had a serious criminal element. Several Brazilian militia members, just like the ones they had tailed while tracking Rojas's assistant, could be seen about the place. Some of them were selling what seemed to be illegal drugs, while others strolled around intimidating any civilian foolish enough to walk by them.

According to Intel about Rojas, the man was under the protection of the local militia. If they tried finding Rojas here, a firefight seemed inevitable. Royce seemed to be having the same thoughts.

"Remember, there are civilians in the favela. Watch your fire out there. Meat, get the civvies out of here." He ordered.

_Three of us, against how many…? _

There could be dozens of gang members in the favela. The place was huge.

If Royce felt any fear about facing an army of gangsters, he didn't show it. He simply jumped down into the favela, taking cover behind a car, as Meat fired several rounds into the air, shouting in Portuguese to the civilians to get the hell out of there. Together, Meat and Roach joined Royce in the favela and took cover behind some cars.

Startled by the gunfire, the civilians ran amok and started fleeing the scene. Roach spotted alarmed looks on several of the faces of the gang members. Then, without warning, a string of bullets flew towards Roach, and he ducked, the gunfire missing him by inches. He heard the bullets smack into the wall behind him.

The fight was on.

* * *

"Watch the rooftops!" Royce warned.

Roach looked up to see several of the militia clambering across the rooftops of the houses, rifles ready. For a bunch of unruly thugs, they had certainly reacted fast to the Task Force's unexpected intrusion. He brought his own rifle up, and started to pick them off with accurate shots, ducking often to avoid bullets. Beside him, Meat was firing furiously into an alley, where some of the militia were taking cover. Several civilians were still running about and fleeing, and Roach found it hard to fight because of that.

Suddenly, a grenade flew overhead and landed between Roach and Meat. For a moment Roach crouched, rooted to the place, but Meat reached for the grenade and threw it back towards the militia. An explosion sounded and screams of pain could be heard.

"Saved your ass, pretty boy," Meat said in his usual sarcastic tone.

Roach was irritated at himself for the turn of events. He shouldn't have froze like that.

Royce turned to him. "Roach, move up! We'll cover you!"

"Roger!" he replied, suppressing his anger. He would need to keep a cool head if he wanted to survive.

Running hard, he moved towards the building ahead of him while Meat and Royce put down suppressing fire on the militia.

Just as he entered the house, a young Brazilian male charged towards him, intending to club Roach with his rifle, but Roach kicked the man and shot him. Quickly, he scanned the messy house to make sure it was clear of hostiles. Then, looking back, he saw Meat dashing into a building on the left side of the favela while Royce covered him. Royce then single-handedly fought off any resistance as he bolted into a building on the right side of the favela.

The three advanced from building to building, with Meat clearing the left side of the favela, Roach clearing the middle and Royce clearing the right side. Fighting in the favela was difficult. The village was a maze of houses situated extremely close to each other, and most of the combat was close quarters. Being severely outnumbered didn't help matters.

_At least most of the civilians are gone now._

Roach advanced cautiously, senses on high alert. In close quarters combat, reaction time determined who was alive and who wasn't. He dodged a stream of bullets and returned fire, killing his assailants. Wasting no time, he pulled out a flashbang from his vest and threw it into the next house, waiting for the familiar _bang_. Once the flashbang did its job, Roach moved in and cleared the house, wiping out the militia members while they were still blinded.

_Still no sign of Rojas…_

"Meat is down, I repeat, Meat is down!" Royce's voice suddenly rang out in Roach's headset.

Roach looked out of the window of the building, but he couldn't see Meat, or Royce.

"Roach, keep moving up, we can't let them – !" Royce suddenly screamed in pain.

"Royce? Royce!" Roach shouted in alarm.

The situation was turning ugly. If Royce was down too, there would only be him left to take on the militia.

"I'm hit!" Royce said, before screaming in pain once more.

_Damn it, damn it!_

_I've gotta' get out of this place. I'm a sitting duck here._

He could already hear many of the militia's footsteps and voices. They didn't know where he was yet, but if he didn't act now, they would eventually find him and kill him.

Quickly, Roach scrambled out of the building after making sure the coast was clear. He looked towards the area which they had entered from, but several of the militia were already standing guard, intent on trapping him. Three cars were situated at the area. Suddenly, one of the militia spotted him, and fired at him. Roach dived behind a low wall, swiftly switching to the grenadier attachment on his rifle. He fired a grenade without coming out of cover towards the area where he hoped one of the cars was. A sudden explosion rocked the place, and Roach bolted away. The militia were too distracted by the explosion to shoot him, and by the time they realised the ruse, Roach was long gone.

Never breaking stride, Roach ran deeper into the upper level of the favela, desperate to escape the militia.

* * *

Mactavish dashed across the favela, eyes scanning for Rojas's house. According to his assistant, it should have been right…_there._

"Ghost, I see him! C'mon let's go!" Mactavish shouted, already running ahead, determined to pursue Rojas. Beside him, Ghost followed, AK-47 in his arms.

Alejandro Rojas was clad in a white top and jeans, and was hurriedly dashing out of his house, attempting to escape. A black duffel bag was slung across his shoulders, and he didn't look like he noticed the both of them yet. Mactavish thought about putting a round through Rojas's leg, but at this distance, it was a risky manouvere.

Instead, he quickly relayed instructions to Roach, who – judging from what he heard on his earpiece in the past five minutes – was the only surviving member of the team besides Ghost and him.

"Roach, we've got Rojas's location! He's heading west along the upper levels of the favela. We're going after him right now. If you see him, cut him off and push him towards the top of the favela! We can corner him there. There's no time for backup, so you're gonna' have to do this on your own. Good luck. Out."

* * *

Roach pushed his protesting muscles to their limit as he ran uphill into the upper level of the favela. His calves and hamstrings burned, and the ACR as well as his sidearm was starting to feel heavier and heavier.

When he reached a deserted area, he crouched behind a bin to catch his breath and reload his gun, before looking back to see if anyone was pursuing him. There was no one. He had successfully evaded the militia in the lower levels. Now came the upper levels.

Roach thought about going back for Royce. After all, he didn't know for sure if Royce was still alive. But a dozen counter-arguments appeared in his mind and he dropped the idea. A wave of nausea assaulted him, just like it always did when he had to leave comrades behind.

_You're a bastard. You're a bastard for leaving Royce behind._

Roach took a deep breath.

The important thing right now, was to find Rojas, he told himself.

_Find Rojas, so that you can avenge Royce._

With grim determination, Roach pushed himself up and ran towards the upper levels, determined capture Rojas once and for all.

* * *

Mactavish lunged towards Rojas, determined to grab him, but bullets from the militia forced him to scramble behind some bricks for cover.

He cursed.

If it wasn't for these bastards, he would have grabbed Rojas a long time ago. Mactavish cooked two grenades, and threw them both towards the militia at the same time. Just as they exploded, Mactavish sprang out from the bricks and unloaded several quick and accurate shots into the militia.

He turned, and caught a glimpse of Rojas's leg as the man climbed up a ladder to the roof of a building. Quickly, Mactavish followed.

* * *

Roach fired a grenade into a car, watching it explode in flames. The explosion sent several of the militia flying. He was using the grenadier attachment on the ACR to its full potential now, launching grenades into the surrounding buildings and watching as the explosions killed the militia members. It felt good to be relieved of the weight of all the grenades.

Once the area was clear, Roach continued pushing uphill, senses constantly on the alert for hostiles. The upper level of the favela contained higher buildings, and Roach had several close calls with sniper fire on the way up.

Then, he saw man in a white top jumping from a building onto a lower one. A few seconds later, Captain Mactavish leapt down after him. Suddenly, the man turned, pulled out a M4A1 rifle from his black duffel bag, and fired. Captain Mactavish leapt off the building onto a nearby balcony to avoid the gunfire.

_Alejandro Rojas._

* * *

"Roach, Rojas is heading your way! Can you see him?" Mactavish asked.

From the balcony, he couldn't see Rojas, but the direction he was heading just now was towards Roach.

"I see him!" Came the reply.

"Don't shoot him! Keep pushing him towards the top of the favela! Ghost and I are heading there!" Mactavish instructed, and scrambled down the building towards the summit of the hill.

* * *

Ghost cut through the market in the favela, with the militia in pursuit. Pulling out three smoke grenades, Ghost popped smoke to cover his escape as he ran out of the market, eyes scanning the rooftops for Rojas.

He had lost him a while back as he and Mactavish split up. Then, he noticed a white blur at the corner of his vision, and he spotted Rojas on the rooftops once more.

* * *

Roach screamed in pain. Just as he was about to pursue Rojas, someone with an RPG had fired on him. He had missed, but the explosion pushed Roach back towards a pile of rocks, where he landed with a loud smack. He tried to look up and find the man with the RPG, but the light from the bright afternoon sun blocked his vision. He heard an RPG being fired, and dived aside into one of the houses. There was another explosion as the RPG hit the ground. Looking out of the house, Roach finally spotted the man, and hit him with several rounds through the ACOG sight of the ACR, knocking him down.

Cursing at the time wasted, he moved deeper into the favela, looking around frantically for Rojas. To his horror, he saw Rojas moving down a staircase from the top of a building, and was heading towards a black motorcycle parked at the side of a wall. He raised his rifle and prepared to destroy the motorcycle, but when he squeezed the trigger, he realized he was empty.

He started to reload his gun, but Rojas was already getting on the motorcycle.

Desperately he called out, "He's getting onto a motorcycle!"

* * *

Ghost saw what happened as well, and unlike Roach he had a full magazine in his AK-47. He aimed down it Red Dot sight and fired at the wheels of the motorcycle, flattening them. Rojas looked angered at what happened, but before he could do anything, Ghost unleashed a volley of fire at Rojas's feet.

It was not intended to injure him, but merely to drive Rojas towards the top of the favela. At the same time, he ordered, "Roach! I'm driving Rojas towards you! Put down your own fire so that we can both drive him towards the top of the favela!"

* * *

Spotting what Ghost had done 500 metres opposite of himself, Roach heaved a sigh of relief, and followed Ghost's orders. He quickly reloaded his gun and fired at Rojas's feet. The man was startled, unable to see where the fire had come from and quickly dashed towards the only safe area left: the top of the favela.

* * *

Unknown to Rojas, the top of the favela wasn't safe for him at all. Mactavish hid in the top level of a building at the top of the favela, ready to ambush Rojas.

"Good job, you two. Continue pushing him towards my position." He spoke.

Suddenly, there was a glint of light, and one of the militia, a man with sunglasses appeared with his rifle raised. Several others with guns appeared with him.

Mactavish reacted fast. When he had noticed the glint of light from the man's sunglasses, he had already flung out two flashbangs and leapt towards the staircase and the second level of the building. The men reacted too slowly, and the flashbang caused them to kneel over in agony while clutching their eyes and ears.

Mactavish brought his gun up and fired on the men, killing them.

* * *

Ghost reloaded his rifle as Roach continued driving Rojas back. They acknowledged each other with terse nods. Just as Ghost finished reloading his rifle, Rojas turned towards them and unleashed a volley of fire at them. They both lunged aside towards their chosen cover, but Ghost heard Roach scream in pain.

"Roach! Are you alright?" he called out.

* * *

Roach clutched his left calf in pain. He had avoided most of Rojas's gunfire, but a bullet had pierced his left calf. Blood gushed from the wound. He looked up and saw Rojas slipping into a building. Before long, Rojas was back on the rooftops.

"I'm alright Ghost. Just got shot in the leg. Captain Mactavish, be advised. Rojas is running across the rooftops into your area." He said.

There were at the top of the favela already. Hopefully the Captain could nab the bastard now, and he could something about his wound.

* * *

Ghost looked on as Rojas jumped onto a balcony of a building. Roach and him wouldn't be able to reach him in time now. It was up to the Captain. Quickly, he moved to help Roach.

* * *

Loud footsteps signalled Rojas's arrival, and Mactavish prepared to shoot the man in the leg the moment he appeared, but there was a sudden movement and one of the militia members, previously unseen, tackled him to the ground, causing his MP5k to slide across the room. He pulled out his pistol and tried to shoot the person, whom he was slightly surprised to see was a woman, but the she swung her arm aggressively and knocked the pistol of out his grip. Mactavish headbutted her, disorienting her and stabbed her through the throat with his knife.

Mactavish turned. Rojas was right in front of him, but both his guns lay at the opposite end of the room.

* * *

Ghost's eyes eagerly observed Rojas, waiting for Mactavish to ambush him. He frowned when he realised that Rojas was already across the balcony, and was ready to jump onto the next building.

_Where was Mactavish?_

"He's gonna' get away!" he cried out in alarm.

* * *

"No, he's not."

Knife in hand, Mactavish lunged.

* * *

Roach almost missed it. The first second Rojas was running across the balcony, about to escape, when his head turned as if something was coming towards him. The next second, Captain Mactavish had suddenly appeared, and both men were flying off the balcony into the air.

* * *

The two men landed on a green car below with a loud crash, with Mactavish on top with his knife at Rojas's throat. Amazingly, The Captain had the same stoic expression which he wore at all times, as if what had just happened was just another day on the job. In a sense, it was. Ghost and Roach advanced onto the two, weapons ready, with Roach still wide-eyed about what happened.

He looked down at Rojas. The man was injured and bleeding, possibly with broken bones, but alive.

* * *

There you go. 3000+ words, and most of it action scenes. Whew. It was really tedious to write all of that.


	5. Interrogation

**Chapter 4: Interrogation**

**16:14**

**Alejandro Rojas a.k.a Alex the Red**

**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil**

Alejandro Rojas had been involved in crime all his life. At the age of eight he started stealing. He stole from the imbeciles who bullied him and looked down on him because of his family background. The idiots never had a clue about what happened, something which Alejandro gleefully acknowledged. At the age of fourteen, he started drug trafficking after joining a local gang in the neighbourhood. At the age of seventeen, he became involved in illegal betting and prostituition. At that point of time, his parents had just about given up on him, when his damned uncle decided to step in. That sadistic bastard forced him into a troubled youth program, and would beat him senseless every time Alejandro rebelled. His uncle had been a well-known fighter in _vale tudo _matches, and was a sadistic, cruel man. Alejandro still bore the scars from the beatings.

Eventually, Alejandro ended up working as a low-level munitions clerk, earning a pitiful salary every month. However, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Instead of despairing, he saw it as a chance to further his career in crime. Always ambitious, Alejandro worked up the career ladder quickly, and managed to secure a powerful position. Just when his fool of an uncle thought he had won, Alejandro re-started his criminal career. He went freelance, and started selling weapons to terrorist organizations and criminals. At first, he only attracted small time thugs, but as time went by, due to the top-notch quality of his weapons and the fact that his deals always went smoothly without police interference, he became the number one guy in the black market to go to for weapons. Cash rolled in quick, and Alejandro had never been happier in his life.

Then one day, a bunch of gun-wielding men stormed into the favela in Brazil in which he resided in, and actually managed to _capture _him. One thing that was unique about him was that in his entire criminal career, he had _never _been caught. Not when he stole and trafficked drugs on the streets of Rio de Janeiro, not when he sold weapons to terrorists in the Middle East, Russia, Northern Ireland, and other places. Over the years, he had been pursued by just about every police organization in the world, and had always escaped. Several of the escapes had been narrow, but he'd always managed to get away.

Suddenly, these men with guns fought through an entire favela full of Brazilian militia members, put him onto a harrowing chase through the streets and rooftops of the village, and just when he was about to escape, one of them had tackled him off a three-storey building and onto a car below, just in the nick of time. It was the greatest display of fighting ability Alejandro had ever seen.

One of his clients, infamous terrorist Vladimir Makarov had warned him that military units would be looking for him. Alejandro had simply shrugged it off. After all, he had evaded all attempts at capturing him for several years. He didn't believe he would ever be caught. When he received word that his assistant had been captured by mysterious men, he didn't run, believing that the Brazilian militia would be able to successfully defend him. Obvious, he was wrong about those morons.

One of the men, the one who had tackled him off the building, spoke with a Scottish accent. His hair was styled in a distinctive mohawk, and his face carried several scars. But the one who was the most distinctive in the group was a man who had his face completely hidden by a balaclava, a skull-patterned mask, and dark sunglasses. Alejandro had seen a great many terrible things, but the masked man unnerved him. Not an inch of his face was revealed. The last man was good-looking and young, with brown hair and eyes. Both of them spoke with British accents. From their conversation, he inferred that there had been two other members of the squad, but they were killed.

Alejandro looked for signs of what military unit the men belonged to. Judging from their accents, SAS, maybe. The men were only clad in street clothes, save for bulletproof vests on their torsos, so Alejandro was unable to discern anymore beyond that.

Now, Alejandro lay broken and hurting on the roof of the ruined car. The pain he felt was jarring. The man with the mohawk, the man who had tackled him off the bloody building, was kneeling beside him, with a knife pressed to Alejandro's throat.

_Fucking asshole_,he thought. He must have broken several bones in his body in that fall. He couldn't even move without experiencing a sudden burst of extreme pain. Then, he heard the man with the mask attempt to contact their superiors for extraction, but he wasn't getting a response.

_Ha, suckers.._

He was unable to concentrate on the rest of the men's conversation, due to the pain he was feeling. Then, he experienced a sudden jolt of agony, and he realized that the men were carrying him off somewhere. All he could make out from the men's conversation was the word "interrogate", before pain engulfed him again.

* * *

The men had carried him to a secluded alley in the right at the edge of the favela. On the way there, the men had engaged the Brazilian militia again, but soon lost them after a brief firefight. Rojas suspected that the militia was reluctant to face the men again, after crumbling under the men's attack.

At the alley, the men tied him to a metal pipe, silencing him with their hands to prevent his screams from alerting anyone. He was kneeling; his arms were suspended from the metal pipe.

"What do you want from me?" Alejandro finally managed to say out.

He was relieved to not be moving again. As long as he stayed still, the pain wasn't as jarring.

The masked man kneeled down in front of him.

"Vladimir Makarov." The masked man said, holding up a photograph. "Ring any bells? You supplied him with weapons on one of his operations. The attack at Zakhaev International Airport."

Behind him, the man with the mohawk stood, watching Alejandro like a hawk. The man with the brown hair was at a corner, keeping guard.

Alex smiled inwardly. They were going to interrogate him, which meant that all Alejandro had to do was delay them long enough for the militia to come and rescue him. He knew it was going to be painful, but he had experienced pain before. He wasn't going to let up.

"I don't know where he is, if that's what you're asking."

"Really? Because I think you do. You know what's gonna' happen if you don't give me what I want." The masked man replied. "It's not worth it, mate, fighting us. You can barely move, what with the amount of broken bones you have. In fact, you might be happy to know that we'll let you go after you give us the information. We won't be carrying another passenger with us."

"A likely story." Alejandro spat.

He was not so stupid as to be fooled so easily. However, what he said was the truth. He honestly did not know where Makarov was.

The masked man stood up and sighed. "Well then, sorry mate. We're gonna' have to do it the hard way."

* * *

Alejandro screamed.

"Where is Makarov?" the masked man asked again, his voice low and menacing.

Alejandro didn't reply, still reeling from the pain. Suddenly, the man with the mohawk stepped forward and kicked him hard in the abdomen.

"WHERE IS HE!"

Not for the first time, blood poured out of Alejandro's mouth. "Please…let me go…I don't know where he is…"

He looked up, and suddenly, the two men weren't there anymore, replaced by his uncle, whom he had not seen for years.

_Oh God…not again…_

He was in so much pain that he'd been hallucinating on and off, seeing things and people that weren't there, hearing voices echo in his head.

His uncle smashed a crow bar onto Alejandro's head.

Alejandro screamed once more.

In reality, the masked man stabbed the electrical cables he was holding onto the metal pipe Alejandro was tied to, sending waves of electricity into Alejandro's body. The electricity coursed through Alejandro, plunging him into another level of pain.

"_Where is Makarov!" _the masked man asked.

Alejandro hung his head. His vision was hazy, because he had lost one of his eyeballs and the other was barely holding up. More voices echoed in his head, making a scrambled mess of his thoughts.

"_Still crawling about the streets for food, Rojas?"_

"_You're pathetic."_

The masked man electrocuted him again.

"WHERE IS MAKAROV!"

The voices continued echoing in his head.

"_I need something to shake the edge. What do you got?"_

"_Cannabis? I don't know, seems kind of pricey."_

"WHERE IS MAKAROV!"

Another wave of electricity.

"_Get me some good girls. I'm dying to bang something."_

"_Hey, I need a gun. What do you have?"_

"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!"

"_Rojas, some men just nicked your assistant. Military, from the look of it."_

"_Thanks for the weapons. They'll be looking for you, you know. You'd better be careful. The people looking for me aren't to be messed with."_

"_Hey, be alert these few days. There may be people looking for us. If you sense anyone following you, kill them."_

The masked man raised the electrical cables again, and chanelled a thunderous wave of electricity into Alejandro. A burning smell wafted through the alley.

* * *

After one hour, Alejandro Rojas finally gave in. He told them that he truly didn't know where Makarov was, but he overheard him talking on the phone to someone about a certain "Prisoner 627" in a Russian gulag. Makarov had talked about killing him and "avenging Zakhaev once and for all", saying he would do it "once all of this is over".

With that, Alejandro sagged his shoulders, and hung his head, waiting for his death.

_Please, oh God, just let me die…I'm in so much pain…_

But the blow never came. The men were gone. They _were_ telling the truth when they said they wouldn't kill him. But Alejandro wished it were otherwise. He wanted to die. It was the fastest way to escape the pain.

* * *

Next up, The Hornet's Nest!


	6. The Hornet's Nest

**Chapter 5 : The Hornet's Nest**

**Captain John "Soap" Mactavish**

**Task Force 141**

**Rio de Janeiro**

**Five minutes before the interrogation of Alejandro Rojas**

Mactavish watched as Ghost slammed a fist against a wall in frustration.

"I still can't get anyone on the horn."

Mactavish suppressed a surge of anger, and took another puff of his cigarette.

This was bad. Shepherd's men weren't responding to their calls for extraction, and the militia was sure to be guarding the exits of the favela, in case they tried to escape. This meant they had no way to get out of here. The militia had backed off for the moment, but Mactavish knew they would be back soon for Rojas, with reinforcements this time. They _had _to find a way to get out of here fast. It wouldn't do for them to interrogate Rojas and get Makarov's location, before getting slaughtered by the militia when they moved in.

Suddenly, he thought of someone. Mactavish hadn't seen him in years, but maybe…

"I know a guy. Let's find a payphone. They still exist?" Mactavish said to his team, now comprising of three men, including him, with one man wounded. He learned that Roach had been shot earlier in the leg by Rojas.

"I think I saw one behind that building." Roach replied, pointing to a building about 50 metres away from them. He winced as he continued to bandage his wound.

"Stay with Rojas. I need to make a call." Mactavish said, and strode off to find the payphone, flicking his cigarette to the ground.

He hoped Nikolai hadn't forgotten who he was.

After all, he had saved his life five years ago.

* * *

**16:50**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil**

Roach sprinted through the market, trying his best to ignore the pain in his left calf.

"The militia's catching up!" Ghost shouted, just as gunfire flew over their heads.

Ghost dived aside, dodging more rounds as Mactavish wheeled about and fired at the militia, bombarding them with bullets. Roach added his own fire into the mix, unleashing a volley of gunfire into the militia with his Mini-Uzi. He had just about run out of magazines for his ACR in the fight earlier to capture Rojas, and hence, was forced to abandon the rifle and switch to his sidearm instead. He was glad to be free of the rifle's weight. The Mini-Uzi was light, and had a high rate of fire, though it lacked accuracy at long range. Still, in the close quarters of the market, accuracy didn't matter much.

He deftly switched to a new magazine, and unleashed another burst of fire into the militia. Mactavish signalled for him to move.

"Go, go, go!"

Turning around, Roach dashed ahead with Ghost as Mactavish put down a last bit of suppressing fire. They had just rushed out of the market, when Roach heard the sound of helicopter blades.

He looked up and saw a matte-black Pave Low flying overhead.

"That's Nikolai's Pave Low! Let's go!" Mactavish urged, as the three of them continued running.

With the wound of his left calf, Roach's pace dropped despite his efforts, and he slowly started to fall behind. Behind them, he heard the footsteps and shouting of the Brazilian militia as they once again started to catch up. For a moment, Roach wondered if the team would leave him behind if he fell too far back, but his thoughts were interrupted when Ghost turned around and started to pull him forward.

"C'mon, keep moving!" Ghost shouted.

At the same time, Mactavish relayed orders to Nikolai. "Nikolai, E.T.A 20 seconds! Be ready for immediate dustoff!"

"That may not be fast enough! I see more militia closing in on you!" Nikolai replied.

"Pick up the pace!" Mactavish yelled to his team.

The extraction point wasn't far. Soon they would be out of here. Encouraged by that thought, Roach pushed himself to run faster. Together, the Task Force cut through one of the houses, eager to escape the militia. They exited the building just in time to see Nikolai's Pave Low hovering above the ground, about to land.

Roach heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, they would be getting out of here.

As if to counter that thought, an RPG suddenly flew past the Pave Low, missing it by inches. Several more followed, and the Pave Low rose back up into the sky. Roach looked up and saw several militia members appear opposite of them. He ducked just in time to avoid several bullets.

"It's too hot! We will not survive this landing!" Nikolai shouted.

"Nikolai, wave off, wave off! We'll meet you at the secondary LZ! Go!" Mactavish said.

The Pave Low flew off; just as the militia fired their last RPGs. Roach took the chance to shoot at the militia, killing two of them. The team was now boxed in; behind them the bulk of the militia were closing in, in front was another group. However, it was fortunate that the group in front of them consisted of no more than twenty men, and was hence easily eliminated. Roach began to appreciate how shitty the militia were at shooting. Most of them fired from the hip, and hence had zero accuracy. They were easy to take down, especially for well-trained SpecOps soldiers like the Task Force 141. Had they been halfway decent shooters, the Task Force would have been overwhelmed by now.

The Task Force quickly eliminated the group, and dashed towards a group of houses. The secondary LZ was on the rooftops of the houses not far from here. Quickly, they clambered onto the roofs. Thankfully, the houses were low in height, and they climbed up easily despite the weight of their weapons and ammo.

Never pausing, the three soldiers continued sprinting towards the LZ, leaping across the closely-packed houses. They were on higher buildings now, each about three to four storeys high. Roach's calf protested whenever he leapt. The pain was agonising.

_Just need to hang on for a bit longer…_

Finally, they saw the Pave Low, hovering above the roof of the next building. There was nothing much gratifying than seeing an aircraft ready to extract when you were escaping from a hot zone.

As one, the three men ran, and leapt towards the roof of the next building.

As he leapt, Roach felt a stabbing pain in his calf. His heart fell when he realised his jump lacked power. In mid-air, Roach watched as Mactavish and Ghost successfully landed on the next roof. He flailed his arms, desperately reaching for the edge.

_I'm not gonna' make it!_

His fingers touched the edge of the roof, but slipped off. As he started to fall towards the ground, Mactavish leaned over and tried to catch him, his face contorted in desperation. Frantically, Roach made a grab for Mactavish's hand…

…and missed.

He felt a rush of air as he fell three storeys. Then, he felt a sudden burst of pain, and everything went black.

* * *

"_Roach…"_

Roach opened his eyes, groaning. His head was pounding.

_What the…?_

"_ROACH! WAKE UP!"_

Roach frowned, confused.

"Roach! We can see them from the chopper! They're coming for you, dozens of 'em!" he heard Ghost shout over his headset.

_Them…?_

The memories came back with a jolt. Alarmed, he pushed himself up. He looked around and saw that he had fallen into an alley. Loud footsteps and shouting caught his attention and he turned to see several, no, _hundreds _of militia members swarming towards him. He turned around, only to see that the other way was similarly blocked by the militia. Panicked and frantic, he ducked into a nearby house, just as bullets flew his way. Not knowing at all where he was going, Roach dashed out of the back entrance of the house into another alley, with the militia hot in pursuit. Deafening gunfire flew his way as he rounded a corner, and he realised that he'd dropped his gun during the fall.

"Roach! We're circling the area, but I can't see you! Find your way to the rooftops!" Mactavish's voice suddenly sprang up over his headset.

_They haven't left me behind…_

Still in a state of panic, Roach bolted down the street, desperate to escape his pursuers. The large group of militia members was disorganized, and were shoving and elbowing each other as they ran. This caused them to be much slower than Roach, who could slip and shove past civilians who were in his way easily.

Roach ducked into another house, and saw that – _thank God_ – the house had a staircase leading up to its roof. He ran up the stairs, the pain in his calf all but forgotten. At the top of the stairs he found himself in a room on the second level of the house, where the rooftops just lay outside. Roach scrambled to the roofs, looking up for signs of Nikolai's Pave Low.

Now that he had put a lot of distance between him and his pursuers, he was somewhat less panicked. As he ran across the rooftops, he continued scanning the skies for the helicopter.

"Captain Mactavish, I'm on the rooftops! Where are you?" He yelled.

'Roach, I see you! Follow the Pave Low! Be careful, the militia has snipers up here!" Mactavish replied.

Roach turned and saw Nikolai's Pave Low flying overhead, with Mactavish and Ghost staring down at him. Then, without warning, a few RPGs flew towards the Pave Low, which avoided them just in the nick of time. At the same time, several bullets flew towards Roach, but they bounced off his bulletproof vest. Picking up speed, he continued running after the Pave Low, making sure to run behind cover as much as possible.

He skidded to a halt when he realised he'd reached a dead end.

* * *

Mactavish yelled into his earpiece, "Left! Turn left and jump down!"

Roach thought that he had reached a dead end, but that was because he couldn't see that there was a building to his left which he could jump on from his position. Mactavish watched as Roach turned to his left and jumped, landing squarely onto another rooftop.

The Pave Low lurched as Nikolai avoided another slew of RPG fire.

"Gas is very low! I must leave in thirty seconds!" Nikolai said.

"C'mon, Roach, hurry!" Ghost shouted, his voice filled with urgency.

Similarly, Mactavish urged Roach to move faster. He had lost enough friends in his life; he would be damned if he was going to leave Roach behind.

* * *

Roach jumped again and slid off the roof of another building. Glass fragments splayed everywhere as he crashed through a window into a top level room of another house. Quickly, Roach pushed himself back up and ran towards the edge of the roof of the house.

The Pave Low was hovering beside the roof, a rope ladder hanging from it. It was a beautiful sight.

"Jump for it!" Mactavish shouted.

Taking a deep breath, Roach pumped his arms and sprinted with all his might to the edge of the roof. Then, he leapt forward, his arms outstretched for the rope ladder.

Just as he started to plummet towards the ground, his hands gripped around one of the ladder's rungs, and he hung on for dear life. At the same time, the Pave Low flew away from the favela, just as a few inaccurate RPGs missed it by inches.

Roach paused to catch his breath, his adrenaline overflowing in his body. He looked back to see the favela going further into the distance, and heaved a sigh of relief. Then, he started to climb.

* * *

**As you can see, I decided to have Rojas shoot Roach in the leg earlier so that there would be a reason for Roach to miss the jump. I've always thought that it was kind of weird that Roach missed the jump for no reason whatsoever in the campaign.**

**Some of you might have noticed that I have made changes to the story. **

**One reviewer pointed out that Roach didn't drive the car in "Takedown". Yes, I was aware that another TF141 member drove the car, but I felt that it was pointless to introduce him and then kill him immediately after. So I made Roach the driver instead.**

**Another change I made was Mactavish pushing Rojas onto the car with a knife in hand instead of a pistol. That's another thing about the campaign that puzzles me. Mactavish had a pistol, so why didn't he shoot Rojas in the leg instead of pushing off a building? I mean, he wanted Rojas alive didn't he? But of course, I can accept the explanation that Soap is a badass who needs badass moments. Still, to make it more logical, I decided to have Soap temporarily lose his guns in the story, so that he would have a legitimate reason to resort to such a drastic measure. **

**One more thing. Here's a big thank you for those who reviewed or favourited my story. You guys rock! And for those who read my story but didn't review, shame on you! XD**


	7. Brotherhood

**Chapter 6 : Brotherhood**

**20:22**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**Task Force 141 Headquarters (Location classified)**

The General barged into the briefing room, his eyes bloodshot and his brow slanted in a frown. The man looked just about as tired as Roach felt. Still, General Shepherd radiated power and authority. That was one thing which never failed to amaze Roach. The General had _presence_. People naturally looked to him for leadership. A born leader, he thought.

Shepherd didn't waste any time. "What have you got on Makarov?"

"We were only able to interrogate Rojas for about an hour before we had to flee the favela. Respectfully, sir, this wouldn't have happened if someone had been there to extract us when we got Rojas. I nearly lost a man because of that." Captain Mactavish replied, his facial expression betraying no emotion, but his voice carrying a hint of anger.

The General sighed, and moved into one of the chairs. He sat, drumming his fingers onto the table. For a long moment, the sound of his fingers hitting the table rattled throughout the quiet room. No one said a word.

Finally, the General looked towards the squad.

"Russia has invaded America."

For a moment, Roach was taken by surprise. Then he realized he should have expected it, after remembering the massacre at Zakhaev International. He looked towards Ghost and Mactavish. Ghost's face was hidden by his mask and balaclava, while Mactavish was frowning.

The General continued. "They've been pushing us back, and they're gonna' keep doing that until we can pull more of our troops back from the Middle East. It's been a rough day. Damned Russians had already copied the ACS module before you and Sanderson managed to retrieve it. That's why we didn't receive your call for extraction." He explained.

Roach remembered the chilling days on the Tian Shan mountain range, where he and Mactavish had been sent to infiltrate a Russian military base and retrieve an ACS module from a downed American satellite.

Slowly, the three Task Force 141 members nodded. It wasn't Shepherd's fault that they weren't extracted. What's done was done. A soldier didn't dwell on matters that had already passed.

It was time to reveal the information they had attained.

"We weren't able to get Makarov's location out of Rojas. Frankly, I don't think he knew where he was. In the end, the only thing that we got out of him was that the only guy Makarov hates worse than Americans is locked in a Russian gulag." Ghost began, his voice muffled by the balaclava which he was still wearing.

Mactaivish nodded. "Prisoner 627."

Shepherd had stood up, and was listening intently, his eyes sharp and impenetrable. "Did you get any information about this prisoner?"

Ghost shook his head. "We wanted to question Rojas further, but by then the local militia had already started to close in on us."

Shepherd nodded. "It's all we've got, then. I'll try and get the location of the gulag. Once I have news, we'll move in and capture Prisoner 627. Right now, this person's our only lead. Hopefully we can use him or her as bait to draw Makarov out. In the meantime, get some rest. You're gonna' need it."

As one, the three of them saluted, and began to leave the room. They were at the door when Shepherd suddenly said, "Mactavish. Earlier on you said you nearly lost a man. I understand that Royce and Meat were killed by the militia. What happened?"

Roach darkened at the mention of Royce. He didn't want to be reminded of what had happened at the favela.

"During our escape, sir, Roach missed our helicopter because he had been shot in the leg earlier by Rojas. We went back for him in the helicopter, and he outran the militia before getting on." Mactavish explained.

Shepherd's eyes narrowed. "So you risked your only mode of escape to go back for him."

The General muttered a curse.

His gaze shifted to Roach. "Sanderson. You're a top-notch soldier, one of the best in the world. I understand that you're the least experienced in the squad, but damn it, if the squad has to risk their lives to save your ass again, you're out of the 141. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir!" Roach replied.

Self-loathing began to creep into him. Shepherd was right, he shouldn't have made such a mistake. It was also not the only error he made during the mission. Roach bitterly remembered the time in the favela where he froze on the spot when a grenade landed next to him. Only Meat's fast reflexes had saved him.

As a special operations forces soldier, he was used to being the best. His old instructors back at the SAS constantly stressed for them to aim for perfection and excellence. As SpecOps soldiers, the missions they would undertake would sensitive and dangerous. Success depended on being the best of the best. No quarter was to be given during training. As such, Roach felt furious with himself for making such rookie errors.

* * *

"Get some rest, team. You never know when another mission might crop up. And Roach, get your calf checked will ya'?" Mactavish said, as the three of them left the room.

"Right, but first I'm going to get something to eat. I'm fucking starving. Roach, you coming?" Ghost said, pulling off his mask, sunglasses and balaclava. His medium-length hair shone with sweat.

"Nah. I'm gonna' get some sleep." Roach lied, and stalked off.

Truthfully, he didn't know if he would be able to sleep. The matter about his mistakes still weighed heavily in his mind. Mactavish and Ghost didn't go after him. They knew what was bothering him, and knew that he would want some privacy.

Roach walked towards his room. Upon entering, he pulled off his shirt, and lay bare-chested onto his bed.

Everyone makes mistakes, he tried convincing himself, but it didn't work. All soldiers knew this: you should never endanger your team by putting yourself in a position where they would have to risk the mission's objectives as well as their lives to save you. It was your own responsibility to ensure that you could take care of yourself, so that the team could focus on the mission and not waste time taking care of an incompetent teammate.

Roach sat up with frustration. He'd let the squad down by being the weak link who had to be rescued. He knew that it sometimes happened, after all, no one was perfect, but being considered the weak link was a hard blow to any SpecOps soldier's pride. As the minutes flew by, Roach felt even more pissed with himself.

"Damn it."

He would do better next time, he vowed to himself, but the anger was still present in him.

And then there was Royce.

_We couldn't even get his body._

His funeral and Meat's would be held in a few days, and Roach desperately hoped that he wouldn't be tied up in a mission during that time. He wondered who would replace the two of them, then gave a tired sigh. This was what being a soldier turned you into. You started thinking about your buddies' replacements even before their funerals were over, he thought.

_I should go to the infirmary to check on my calf. And after that I should just sleep. It'll all blow over in a couple of days._

But as he limped towards the infirmary, avoiding all contact with the other Task Force 141 soldiers, he felt like hitting something. He needed a way to vent the anger, he decided. Turning around, he headed to the gym instead.

* * *

No one was inside.

_Good._

He moved past the weight equipment and treadmills to a shelf in the corner, where he picked up two 4 ounce MMA gloves, and put them on. He pulled off his shoes and socks, and after engaging in a few mobility drills to loosen himself up, moved towards the heavy bag.

His first few strikes were controlled. He twisted his body with each punch, utilizing his entire body with each blow. Then, as the minutes went by, his strikes gained power. He threw a jab, a cross, a hook and ended the combination with a roundhouse kick. The sound of the impact rang through the gym, but Roach was oblivious. He was hitting the bag with all the combinations he knew, executing each strike with precision and power, but the anger in him wasn't subsided. With a shout he threw another kick, and doubled over in pain as he landed too hard on his left foot.

Damn Rojas, he thought, as he stood back up. He didn't bother to check the condition of his calf, before engaging in another flurry of punches and elbows. Just as he landed a particularly effective left hook, Roach sensed someone nearby.

"Looks like somebody's pissed." Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley said. He was similarly barefooted, and also had 4 ounce MMA gloves over his hands.

"Fuck off, Riley." Roach said, and turned back to the bag. That had been uncalled for, but Roach was too angry to care.

Suddenly, Roach felt a burst of pain in his ribs, and stumbled, nearly falling over. He looked over to Ghost, whom he realized had just kicked him.

"You should treat your lieutenant with respect, you little fucker." Ghost said, a smile forming on his lips.

I should ignore him, Roach thought.

_He's just trying to bait me._

Roach turned towards the bag again, when Ghost suddenly sprang forward and punched him in the jaw. Roach fell, and nearly blacked out for an instant. He shook the pain off, fury building in him.

_Fine, if that's how you wanna' play…_

With a burst of speed, Roach lunged forward and unleashed a series of punches, aggressively pushing Ghost back.

_You wanna' fight, don't cha'?_

Roach swung his fist towards Ghost, confident that the blow would knock him out. The blow never landed. Ghost bobbed and weaved, moving in towards Roach. He swung his elbow into Roach's jaw, and kneed him hard in the abdomen. Roach flexed his abdominals just in time to protect himself from Ghost's knee, but Ghost had already grabbed Roach's thighs and took him to the ground. Putting his knee onto Roach's stomach, Ghost proceeded to pummel him with elbow strikes. It was all Roach could do to shield himself with his arms.

"C'mon, even a pussy like you can do better than this!" Ghost said, and elbowed Roach once more. With a snarl, Roach kneed Ghost in the kidney, causing Ghost to falter momentarily in pain. Taking the chance, Roach flipped Ghost to his side, and strained to put him in an armlock. He had almost managed it when Ghost slipped free. The two of them scrambled to their feet, exhausted and spent.

Roach gasped for breath, psyching himself up for another bout. Then his shoulders sagged, and he realized that his anger was gone.

"Got rid of that anger yet?" Ghost asked, a warm smile suddenly appearing on his tired face.

Roach blinked, confused.

Ghost nodded and dropped his arms, still breathing heavily. "Thought you might needed something else, other than that old bag to take your anger out on. Something alive, preferably. Its always more satisfying to hit a living being."

"So you weren't just being an asshole." Roach said, and immediately felt embarrased. He thought Ghost had been acting like a damned asshole, when it was actually him who was being difficult.

Ghost moved towards the water cooler. "Everyone makes mistakes, Roach. Even guys like us. We all lose it sometimes." He swallowed several gulps of water.

"Just don't let it get to your head. And I'm sorry about Royce. He was a good man."

Roach looked down, unsure of what to say. In the end, all he could muster was, "Thanks, Ghost."

Ghost waved him off as he put his shoes back on and replaced the gloves. Before walking out of the door, he turned back and with a cocky smile, he said, "By the way, I would've won that fight.", causing both men to grin.

Roach pulled off his gloves and put them back onto the shelf. Wiping off his sweat with a towel, he put on his shoes and headed towards the infirmary, glad to have vented his anger.

* * *

**I've been rather busy with school lately, so I took a while to write this. The next chapter will focus on Mactavish and Shepherd, so stay tuned!**

**P.S. Does anyone know what exactly is an ACS module? I've played through the campaign several times and I still don't know what it is, or what it does. **


	8. Soldiers and Leaders

**Chapter 7 : Soldiers and Leaders**

**03:49**

**Captain John "Soap" Mactavish**

**Task Force 141**

**Task Force 141 Headquarters (Location classified)**

_Mactavish never knew what hit him. _

_The last thing he remembered was Griggs yelling for them to move, before the Hind fired another stream of bullets and the tanker behind them exploded. Everything went black after that. _

_When he came to, he was lying on his side, feeling light-headed and weak. His vision was hazy, and strangely, he could barely hear a thing. That was a change compared to the loud firefights he'd been involved in during the last few days, and he briefly wondered if he'd gone deaf. He was lying behind a badly damaged red car which would fall apart any second. _

_He wondered how the rest of the squad were holding up, but he couldn't see what was going on with the car in front of him. Before the tanker had exploded, Gaz, Wallcoft and Griffin had been fighting ahead, while Griggs, Price and him were behind them. He tried to drag himself to the right, so that he could see how the firefight was progressing and whether or not the Russian Loyalists had arrived, knowing that there was no hell would he be able to stand. It was no good. He had lost too much blood. After moving an inch he slumped to the ground, defeated and struggling to remain conscious. _

_Suddenly, Griggs appeared beside him, a concerned look on his face. He appeared to be saying something, but Mactavish couldn't hear what he was saying. Hurriedly, Griggs began to drag Mactavish, simultaneously firing towards the Ultranationalists with his pistol. Through his hazy vision, Mactavish deciphered that they were moving towards an armoured jeep, which would provide far better cover than the ruined car. After eight rounds, Griggs chucked his pistol away, and temporarily stopped dragging Mactavish to pull out his light machine gun. Crouching, Griggs unleashed a volley of fire towards the Ultranationalists, protecting Mactavish all the while. _

_There might have been plenty of trash talk against the Americans in the SAS, but at that very moment, Mactavish had never been more grateful to anyone in his life. _

_He looked towards the Ultranationalists, and was glad to see that several of them were gunned down by Griggs's fire. Suddenly, a familiar flash of light caught Mactavish's eye._

_The light from the scope of a sniper rifle. _

_Mactavish turned towards Griggs, desperately hoping that he had noticed the shooter, but it was too late. The bullet collided with Griggs's forehead, and Mactavish watched in horror as the American fell. _

"_No!" he wanted to cry out, but he was too weak to utter a sound. He turned towards the Ultranationalists, waiting for the moment where they would gun him down. What he saw dismayed him. Wallcoft and Griffin were lying behind a car, bloodied and unable to get up. Gaz lay out in the open, barely conscious. Miraculously, none of the Ultranationalists had fired on him yet._

_Mactavish wondered where Price was. Perhaps he had been killed when the tanker exploded. Perhaps he was lying behind him, living his last moments. Mactavish turned to his left, trying his best to ignore the pain he felt as he did so, and saw Price lying on the ground a few feet away from him. He was lying in a pool of blood and was in no better shape than any of them. _

_Morbid fear filled Mactavish's heart. So this was it, he thought. He was going to die. In a few moments the Ultranationalists would close in and finish them off. He hoped it would be quick and painless. _

_Just as he steeled himself for death, he noticed a man walking towards him, flanked by two soldiers with assault rifles. The man was bald and bearded, and was dressed in a grey overcoat. His left arm ended in a stump near the elbow._

_Imran Zakhaev._

_Zakhaev surveyed the scene with unsuppressed joy. He gave orders to his men, who walked up towards Wallcoft and Griffin and executed them with a burst of fire. Meanwhile, Zakhaev pulled out a Desert Eagle from his overcoat and walked towards Gaz._

_For the second time that day, Mactavish watched in horror as another one of his closest friends was executed. Zakhaev pushed the barrel of his gun against the back of Gaz's head, taking a moment to savour his victory, and fired. There was a burst of red liquid, and Gaz was dead._

_Mactavish watched helplessly, unable to do anything._

_Then, Zakhaev moved towards him, eager and smug. Mactavish's life flashed before his eyes._

_Zakhaev was only a few feet away from him, when suddenly; there was a bright orange explosion in the sky. Mactavish looked up and saw that the Ultranationalist chopper had exploded. Zakhaev and his men turned, surprised. At the same time, a voice called out to him. _

"_Soap…"_

_For a moment, he was surprised at the return of his hearing, and then he turned towards Price. His captain was still lying on his side, but now there as a pistol in his hand. With the last of his strength, Price slid the pistol towards Mactavish. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, before Price fell unconscious. The meaning was clear. _

_Mactavish grabbed the pistol and turned towards Zakhaev. The Ultranationalist leader was still distracted by the explosion in the sky. Just like how he had done hundreds of times in his life, Mactavish aimed down the sight of the pistol, and fired._

_Nothing happened._

_The weapon had jammed, and Mactavish's last hope was gone. Zakhaev turned, and with a smile on his lips, fired at Mactavish, killing him._

* * *

Mactavish woke with a start.

"Fuck."

_Not another one of those nightmares again._

The memories of that day flashed through his head. For a moment, he was absorbed into them, but he hurriedly forced them out of his mind, cursing once more as he sat up.

From his experience, it would be no use trying to sleep again. Once the nightmares came, they kept coming. The weeks after that day had been terrible. He would have nightmares about that day as much as several times a week, watching his friends die in front of him over and over again. Eventually, as he went back to doing missions for the SAS, he no longer dreamt as much about it as before. The dreams still popped up every now and then, especially before big missions, where there was a greater chance that he would lose more of his mates. But for the past few months, the nightmare hadn't visited him, and Mactavish was beginning to think that he was finally free from his personal demons.

Apparently not, he thought bitterly.

He got out of bed and switched on the lights, suddenly craving for a light. Unfortunately, he was in a damned submarine, where there were no open-air places where he could smoke.

Instead, he moved towards his wardrobe and ruffled through his personal possessions. In a matter of seconds, he found what he was looking for, and pulled it out.

The photograph was as good as new. Mactavish didn't own many things, only having a few items which he greatly treasured. This was one of them. A photograph, taken five years ago just before Bravo team had been sent to Russia to stop Zakhaev from launching several nuclear warheads. It was a long time ago, but Mactavish still remembered the events as clear as if they happened yesterday.

His instincts told him to put the photograph back and force the entire matter out of his head, just like how he had done for the past five years. Don't confront the memories, it's only gonna' end up bad, they said. Go get a drink or something.

Mactavish hesitated, though he was unsure why. He moved to sit in his chair. Perhaps today he was finally ready to confront the memories which were long buried in head.

Gaz was the one that suggested they took a photograph. Price hadn't been very happy about it, but the four of them, Price, Gaz, Griggs and him had borrowed a camera from a pilot and took the photograph just before they boarded the chopper. They were standing in a row, expressions cheerful despite the dangerous mission that lay ahead of them. Griggs was at the far right, with his arms folded. He wasn't smiling; as usual he had a nonchalant expression on his face. Griggs was laid-back and cool, not prone to outbursts of emotion. Still, Mactavish knew from Griggs's eyes that he was glad to have the SAS men as his friends.

_He died while trying to save my life._

Price and Gaz were in the middle. Both were smiling, but in their own different ways. Price had a sad smile on his face, and sorrow was evident in his eyes. The man had more than two decades of combat experience, and had seen the cruelty of life. On the other hand, Gaz was brash and young, and had an energetic, slightly cocky smile on his face, giving no clues to the brutally efficient killer which he was. Mactavish smiled at the obvious difference between the two.

_Sometimes I wonder how they got along so well when they were so different._

And at the far left was him. He was clean-shaven at that time, bearing a serious and stoic expression. At that time, he had been the newest addition to the squad, and had been determined and eager to prove himself.

_Back then I was still known as Soap._

Mactavish thought of the happy memories for a while, and almost smiled, before the cold, harsh reality set in. They were dead. Griggs had been shot in the head by an Ultranationalist soldier.

_Shot while trying to save _you.

Mactavish clenched his fist as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

Gaz was executed personally by Zakhaev, while Mactavish watched helplessly from the side.

Soldiers died in the missions. It happened, Mactavish knew. Some soldiers were able to accept the death of their mates and just move on. Mactavish had never been one of those soldiers.

_Griggs and Gaz died right before my very eyes. _

And Price…he had no idea where Price was.

He'd caught his last glimpse of his old captain when the Russian Loyalists had arrived and brought him off to a hospital in a chopper. At that moment, a Russian medic had been trying to revive Price. After that, Mactavish never saw his old captain again.

After being discharged from hospital and being put back into service, he had asked around in the SAS about Price's status, but the Ruperts told him they didn't know. At first he thought they were lying, but after an incident in which he threatened and beat up one of them, he was convinced that they truly didn't know.

Price could be dead. The possibility was very real. After all, Mactavish himself had barely survived. But he couldn't explain it; he just had a feeling that Price was still out there, somewhere. Price was the only one in the squad other than him who might still be alive; Mactavish just couldn't accept that he was the only survivor of that day.

_Survivor's guilt._

After he had recovered from his injuries, the SAS had made him see a therapist in order to curb any post-traumatic stress disorder which he might have incurred. Mactavish had vehemently protested, but eventually complied. After a few sessions, they said he showed symptoms of survivor's guilt, and requested from him to come for more sessions. They had tried various methods to get him to understand that he wasn't responsible for what happened, but the methods never worked. Mactavish still woke from nightmares every night, drenched in sweat. He eventually quit the sessions with the therapist, and as a last resort, tried smoking, remembering how Price used to smoke before missions.

It worked. It calmed him, and washed away all the turbulent emotions which he would feel whenever he thought about that day. Since then, Mactavish had been a habitual smoker.

But now, he couldn't smoke. He couldn't drink, for fear of participating in a mission tomorrow with a terrible hangover.

_How the fuck am I supposed to sleep now?_

"Fuck this." He muttered, and put on his shirt and shoes. Grabbing his M1911 pistol from under his pillow, he moved out of the room.

* * *

Most of the Task Force 141 members were in bed now. As Mactavish walked, he heard some shouting from a few drunken soldiers in the common room. But apart from that, the hallway was quiet.

Mactavish walked purposefully towards the shooting range. Since he couldn't sleep, he thought he'd just practice his shooting for a while. It beat sitting in his room with all the thoughts in his head.

The sound of a gun being fired greeted him as he opened the door to the shooting range. Mactavish looked and saw General Shepherd firing rounds from a pistol, each shot precise and accurate. At a closer look, Shepherd was using a .44 Magnum.

He's good, thought Mactavish, as Shepherd fired another shot that would have killed a man instantly. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought that Shepherd was a highly trained sniper.

After emptying his clip, Shepherd paused momentarily to reload his pistol.

"Sir," Mactavish greeted.

"Hello Mactavish. Couldn't sleep?" Shepherd replied, showing no signs of surprise at Mactavish's presence.

"No sir," Mactavish said, and moved beside Shepherd.

He pulled out his M1911, and took his stance. Aiming down the weapon's sight, he fired, grinning with satisfaction as the bullet hit its intended target. The shot would have pierced the spinal column and killed a man instantly. Next, he aimed at the target's heart, and once again his aim was true. He was completely in control, the pistol feeling like an extension of his hand.

As ridiculous as it sounded, his nickname "Soap" was given to him during SAS selection, where he had impressed the instructors with his exceptional marksmanship. That was no mean feat, especially since the instructors were more likely to be screaming at you than praising you. Even Price, an extraordinary sniper, had said he was good.

Aiming down the weapon's sight again, he continued firing, making accurate shots all the while. His last shot was perfect, the bullet landing right between the eyes. Immediately after that, Shepherd fired a shot that was equally clean and precise, the bullet landing in between the eyes of his target.

"You're a good shot, sir." Mactavish said.

Shepherd flashed a rare smile. "I was a Delta man in my younger days. Until this leg got fucked up during a mission and I got dismissed."

He indicated his right leg using his chin.

_Delta Force. No wonder he could shoot so well._

Mactavish reloaded his pistol, and started firing again. Another clean shot, right between the eyes.

"Was that how you killed him?" Shepherd suddenly asked.

He was looking forward as he did so, his expression unreadable.

"Who?" Mactavish asked.

"Him. Zakhaev." Shepherd replied, still looking forward. There was something in his eyes which Mactavish couldn't identify.

Mactavish paused. Not many had talked to him about that day. Several were too intimidated by his reputation. After all, killing a powerful Ultranationalist leader while being inches away from death during your sixth day in the SAS was unheard of, even in a league of elite soldiers.

"No sir. I shot him in the back. It was a terrible shot, honestly. The bullet didn't pierce any major organs. He was dying of blood loss when the Loyalists arrived and died soon after."

If Price had seen the shot, he would have been ashamed.

_I was too injured to aim for crap at that time._

Mactavish waited for a response, but none came. Shepherd showed no signs that he heard, still looking forward and firing.

Mactavish followed suit, putting his mind back into shooting. For several minutes, the sound of their gunfire echoed throughout the room. The M1911 which he was using was a semi-automatic pistol that held seven rounds in each magazine. It had low recoil, and decent accuracy, but lacked firepower. Overall, it was a rather unremarkable pistol, nowhere near the fully automatic G18, which was the standard sidearm used by the Task Force 141, in terms of firepower and magazine size. Still, Mactavish carried it during all missions, reason being that this was Price's pistol. It was the one which Price had slid to him just in the nick of time for him to finish Zakhaev off. With this gun, Price had also executed Khaled Al-Asad. Mactavish never had the chance to return it to Price and had decided to keep it with him and use it.

Besides, the person using the weapon mattered far more than the model of the weapon. And Mactavish was fully confident in his combat abilities.

Shepherd suddenly broke the silence.

"Do you see them?"

His eyes were cold and hard, carrying a hint of anger in them.

Mactavish stopped firing.

"Who…?" he asked warily.

"The men who died under you."

"All the time. In my dreams."

Shepherd stopped firing, and nodded. "As it should be."

He moved to grab a fresh magazine from the armoury, then stopped, his back facing Mactavish. For a few seconds, the room was completely silent.

"Five years ago, Imran Zakhaev and Khaled Al-Asad murdered 30,000 of my men. Just like that. I remember all their names. All 30,000 of them. I recite them every day."

Shepherd turned, and Mactavish could see rage in his eyes. Not just rage, he decided. _Hatred_, and determination. He instinctively started to tense up.

"I swear to you, Mactavish. There will _never _be a day like that again." With that, Shepherd reloaded his pistol, turned, and walked off towards the room's exit.

Just before exiting, Shepherd said, "You know, I've never thanked you for killing Zakhaev. Thank you for avenging my men."

He moved out before Mactavish could reply.

Mactavish stood, alone in the room.

_What was that about?_

* * *

An hour later, Mactavish returned to his room, mentally exhausted, and eager to fall asleep. Before turning off the lights, he took one last look at the photograph of Bravo squad, glancing at the four of them, his gaze resting on Price last.

_Good luck, old man, wherever you are._

* * *

Prisoner 627 woke to the shouts and cursing of the guards. Not wanting another beating, he pushed his tired and bruised body off the grimy floor. At that moment, the guards burst into his cell, cursing loudly in Russian. With a sadistic smile, one of them smashed the butt of his AK-47 against his face, causing him to nearly fall over, while the other grabbed him and shoved him violently out of his cell to join the other prisoners.

Prisoner 627 wiped the blood off his mouth, and moved to join the line of prisoners. He looked to his side and saw a guard dragging a woman and her unwilling child out of their cell. The child was crying, clinging onto the bars of the cell with surprising strength. Without a thought, the guard swung his rifle and smacked the child against her head. The child fell, blood pouring out of her skull. The crying stopped.

Prisoner 627 looked away, just as more guards came and pulled the woman away.

_Just another day at the gulag._

* * *

**Sorry I took so long to write this chapter. I've been having a bit of a writer's block recently, and I've also had to study for my tests at school. **


	9. The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

****

Chapter 8 : The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

**04:01**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**Task Force 141 Headquarters (Location classified)**

Vladimir Makarov was the first thing on his mind when Roach woke.

He got up, filled with nervous anticipation. Shepherd had told them yesterday that they had found the location of the gulag, where Prisoner 627 was imprisoned. Today, they would move in and capture the prisoner.

Makarov had eluded them for a year now. Several times the various squads in the Task Force 141 had tried to capture or kill him, but all attempts had failed. Roach didn't let that discourage him. This was another chance, and Roach was going to give it his all. The memory of the massacre at Zakhaev International was still fresh in his mind.

It was time to end this.

He got out of bed and got to his morning routine. Every morning, he would practice his _kata_, a series of choreographed martial arts techniques put together similarly to a dance. He didn't have enough space in his room, so every morning he would head to the common room to practice.

He arrived at the common room, focused and relaxed. As eager as he was to capture Makarov, he knew he had to keep a cool head in order to be at his best. No one was in the room, which was what he preferred. He was also pleased to note that his calf had healed well in the past few days of rest, and he could now walk and run without feeling pain, although any form of jumping still hurt. Against the doctor's recommendation, he had decided to continue participating in missions. Perhaps it was stupid, but he didn't want to be sitting in the submarine while Mactavish and Ghost went out to capture Prisoner 627, and eventually, Makarov.

Taking a deep breath, he started his _kata_. With each technique, he visualized himself using it on Makarov. Chances were that if Roach ever faced off against the man, it would be with an ACR in his hands. Nevertheless, he couldn't help himself. A sense of satisfaction surged in him as he dislocated Makarov's arm with an armlock. Next up was a side kick, in which Roach's heel smashed against Makarov's chest, and then a knife hand strike to the throat. When Roach finished the _kata_, beads of perspiration were falling off his body.

Feeling energized and strong, Roach moved back towards his room. As he walked out, a whisper caught his attention. Curious, he walked towards where he thought the sound had come from, and found himself in a corner of the room which he hadn't checked as he walked in earlier.

General Shepherd was sitting on the ground in a half lotus position. He was dressed in his uniform, and his eyes were closed, his expression serious. Shepherd was always serious, but this time he looked even more grave than usual.

At a closer look, Shepherd's lips were moving. Roach strained his ears.

"Lieutenant David Vasquez."

Shepherd was silent for a moment, before he whispered again.

"Private Jake Roycewicz."

Roach wondered what was going on, but continued standing quietly. Shepherd looked to be in a world of his own, concentrating on something which only he knew about.

"Sergeant Paul Jackson."

As the minutes flew by, Shepherd whispered more names, in between bouts of silence. His upright posture never slackened, and he was still oblivious to his surroundings. None of the names were familiar to Roach. The names were obviously belonging to soldiers, but other than that, Roach could glean nothing more from them. Puzzled, but deciding that this was not a good moment to speak to the General, Roach moved away quietly, towards his room.

* * *

As usual, the minutes before the mission were tense. Bravo squad remained silent, each man deep in thought. They all knew that no matter how prepared a soldier was, the possibility of death would always be there, looming over and taunting him.

Roach took a deep breath to calm himself. He had participated in several missions throughout his career, and yet the moments before the mission started would be always be difficult. He knew he would be fine once they started; it was the waiting that killed him.

He looked over to his right, where his new squad mates, Worm and Peasant, sat. Roach was slightly irritated by the fact that they were Royce's and Meat's replacements, but was too professional to make a fuss. He knew what it was like joining an entirely new squad; he didn't want to make things harder for the newcomers.

They're more experienced than you, anyhow, he thought. According to the files, Worm was a U.S. Navy SEAL, with several years of experience. He was a burly African-American with a shaved head and a sombre expression. He hadn't said much, and didn't look to be the troublemaker type, a fact which Roach could tell, pleased Captain Mactavish.

Peasant was a tall, lanky Australian soldier, from the Australian Special Air Service Regiment. He was almost as young as Roach, and had a year of combat experience over him.

The two newcomers were sitting quietly just like the rest of the squad. As one, Bravo squad waited for the mission to begin.

* * *

**05:59**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**Vikhorevka 36 Oil Platform, Russia**

The mission had started smoothly. The objective was to secure the oilrig, which the Russians were using as a SAM site. At that very moment, three other squads from the Task Force were assaulting their own oilrigs, which were also used as SAM sites by the Russians. Shepherd needed the SAM sites dismantled so that he could launch an assault on the gulag with the U.S. forces, while the Task Force moved in to search for Prisoner 627.

After disembarking from the SEAL delivery vehicles, Bravo squad had made their way through the lower levels oil platform, stealthily killing any guard they encountered. So far, none of them had raised any alerts.

Roach stood beside a door to a storeroom. Inside, he could hear the sounds of people moving about, oblivious to what was about to happen. Behind him was Mactavish, silenced MP5k ready in his arms.

Opposite of them, beside the other door to the storeroom, Ghost, Worm and Peasant lined up. Ghost gave the signal that he was ready.

Together, Roach and him put breaching charges on the door, and waited for them to blow. At the same time, the two charges exploded, completely destroying the doors. Roach charged in through the smoke, eyes scanning for hostiles.

_Maximum speed, maximum aggression._

He brought up his ACR, and fired a three-round burst into the nearest Russian soldier, whose eyes were wide with alarm and fear. Without hesitation, he turned and fired at the next soldier, killing him. A third soldier had drawn his pistol, and was about to shoot, when Mactavish stepped forward and finished him off.

"Clear!" Roach shouted.

At the other side of the room, Ghost, Worm and Peasant stood in the middle of a clump of bodies.

"Clear!" Ghost shouted.

"Hostages secured in section Two-Echo," Mactavish said.

Over his headset, Roach heard Control reply, "Roger that Bravo six, continue your assault topside."

Without a word, the squad continued moving, breaching and clearing rooms along the way. They were on the upper levels of the platform, when suddenly, a helicopter flew by.

"Enemy helo, get out of sight!" Mactavish yelled, but it was too late.

Just as they rushed towards cover, the helicopter's pilot noticed them, unleashed a steady stream of fire towards them. Roach hid behind a metal container, flinching at the loud barrage of gunfire. Alerted by the noise, several Russian soldiers rushed out, weapons raised.

"Shit! We're compromised!" Roach yelled over the noise.

Quickly, the squad fired at the soldiers. A few of them were gunned down, but the rest took cover, ready for the firefight. In a matter of seconds, they returned fire, sending the squad back to cover. At the same time, the helicopter continued firing in bursts, trapping the squad in a corner.

"Someone take out that chopper!" Mactavish ordered.

Deftly, Roach switched to his grenadier, and waited. The moment the helicopter's current burst of fire ended, he moved out from behind the container, and fired a grenade at the chopper. There was a satisfying explosion, before the chopper was sent reeling and crashed into the waters below.

"Nice shot, Roach." Ghost complimented.

With the chopper gone, the squad could now advance towards the Russian soldiers. A grenade flew and landed towards the squad, but Mactavish moved swiftly to throw it back. The grenade sent the Russian soldiers scurrying away, desperate to escape the explosion. As they broke cover, the squad shot them down. In a matter of seconds, they were eliminated, no match for Bravo squad's coordinated teamwork.

* * *

"Smokescreen." Ghost said.

They were now at the top level of the oil platform. The Russian soldiers had put up a huge smokescreen, hiding themselves from the squad. Suddenly, several shots rang out, missing Roach and Worm by inches.

"These guys have thermal optics. Stay clear of the smoke." Mactavish cautioned.

Roach cursed. The ACOG sight on his ACR was of no use right now. He wished he had a weapon with a thermal sight instead. Of the squad, only Peasant had a weapon equipped with thermal sights, and was firing towards the enemy.

"Snipers on the second floor." He warned.

Suddenly, there was a shout, and out of nowhere a Russian soldier rushed towards Roach, rifle raised to club him. Expertly, Roach sidestepped the man, grabbed him by the head, and silt his throat with his knife. The man fell, his throat cut open.

_Idiot._

Since they had a smokescreen covering them, the man should have stayed back and picked the squad off with his rifle. Instead, he had stupidly ran towards them.

"Rambo's a freaking myth, you little tosser." Roach said, and kneeled down to examine the man's weapon.

Good, he thought. The man had been carrying a F2000 with a thermal sight. Roach checked the magazine. It was fully loaded, with thirty rounds in it. He put down his ACR, and picked up the F2000, along with two F2000 magazines from the man's vest, just in case.

"Peasant, I'm with you, let's go." Roach said.

The two of them advanced into the smoke, sprinting from cover to cover. From behind a metal container, Roach peered through his thermal sight, and immediately spotted a sniper on the second level of the warehouse. He ducked just in time to dodge the man's bullet.

"Sniper, at your two o'clock." Roach called out.

Peasant fired several rounds from his SCAR-H, killing the man. Roach looked through his thermal sight again, and spotted a sniper preparing to fire at Peasant. He quickly shot the man down.

Cautiously, the two of them advanced, utilizing their thermal sights to note the enemy's position. One by one they took them out, until the only soldier left which Roach could see was a sniper hiding on the second floor of the warehouse.

"Having fun out there?" Mactavish asked.

Roach smiled. "I think we've only got one guy left. Peasant, get a frag up there, will ya'?"

Peasant cooked the grenade, and threw it through the window of the area where the man was hiding. There was a scream, before the grenade exploded.

"Alright, the wanker's down. You're free to move up." Roach said.

"About time." Worm grumbled, as he, Ghost and Mactavish moved up to join them. Roach ran back to the Russian soldier who he had killed earlier to retrieve his ACR and put down the F2000. Then, he moved to join the squad.

There were now at the door of the last warehouse. The smoke was beginning to subside, revealing the old, chipped metal that formed its structure. Mactavish and Roach moved to the side of the door, while Ghost, Worm and Peasant prepared to breath through the second entrance.

"Ready." Ghost said.

Once more, Roach placed a frame charge on the door. It exploded, and Roach moved in. The Russian soldiers were ready for them. One of the soldiers sprung forward, knife in hand. Roach snapped his leg out and kicked the soldier with the knife in the face, sending him staggering back. He unleashed a six round burst into the man's torso, causing him to fall. At the same time, Mactavish moved in, and before the other Russian soldiers could fire on Roach, shot them down with a continuous stream of fire from his MP5k.

"Clear!" Roach and Ghost called out at the same time.

At the other side of the room, the Russian soldiers were similarly eliminated by Ghost's team. The squad started to check the bodies, putting bullets into the soldiers' heads to make sure they were dead.

"Good job, people." Mactavish said, once the deed was done. "Control, we've secured the oilrig. I repeat, we have secured the oilrig. Now moving to LZ Bravo."

"Roger that, Bravo six. Marine reinforcements are inserting now to dismantle the SAM sites. Get your team ready for phase two of the operation. Out." came the reply.

Roach heaved a sigh of relief. He didn't know if the other squads had managed to secure the other oil rigs, but the mission was a success for Bravo squad. He followed his squad to the LZ point, where two Little Bird helicopters were waiting for them.

_Now for phase two._

Mactavish, Worm and him boarded the first Little Bird, while Ghost and Peasant boarded the second. A soldier on board handed M14 EBRs to Mactavish and him, which they had requested for the second phase of the mission.

Roach slung his ACR over his back using its sling, and sat with the M14 in his hands. He checked the weapon, pleased to see that everything was in order. As the Little Birds took off, numerous U.S. Marines fast roped from their choppers onto the oilrig, shouting orders. Radio chatter buzzed in Roach's ears.

The Little Bird flew towards the gulag, where phase two of the operation and Prisoner 627 awaited.

* * *

**This chapter was a lot easier to write compared to the previous one. I find it much easier to write from Roach's point of view compared to Mactavish's. It's probably because I've always pictured Mactavish as a brooding and sombre kind of guy, which is something I can't really empathize with. I read the previous chapter and was honestly kind of disappointed with myself. I don't think I portrayed Mactavish's struggles well enough. But I guess its part of being a new writer. **

**SuddenSummerStorm, thanks for reviewing. You've been reviewing each chapter since the third, which is something I'm thankful for. I'm sorry I wasn't able to update more quickly. I've been really busy. Again, thanks for reading and reviewing!**

**UrgentOrange, thanks for pointing out the errors I made. I'd be lying if I said I knew a lot about guns. I assume you've handled firearms before?**

**The next chapter will focus solely on Price (Prisoner 627, if you don't already know). Stay tuned!**


	10. Solitary confinement

**Chapter 9 : Solitary confinement**

**11:03**

**Prisoner 627 (Identity unknown)**

**Somewhere near Petropavlovsk, Russia**

Prisoner 627 swung his axe, his arms heavy, and his breathing laboured.

"Faster, faster!" one of the guards nearby shouted in Russian.

He looked up at the midday sun. One more hour, he told himself. Just one more hour before they would finally break for lunch.

He noticed one of the guards striding towards him, and he quickly went back to work.

* * *

Lunch was the usual: a small, stale piece of bread, and a bowl of what was supposed to be soup.

Prisoner 627 drank the entire bowl of soup in one gulp, relishing the feeling of the liquid hitting his throat. He sighed, and lay back against the wall. Then, he picked up the bread from the floor where he had left it, and wolfed it down gratefully. Even shit tasted good if you were hungry enough.

He was glad that he had been engaging in physical work for all his life. Every morning, afternoon and evening, he and the other physically able prisoners would be sent to the nearby forests for their daily logging sessions. This was all done under the watchful eye of the guards, who wouldn't hesitate to resort to violence should they see anyone slackening. In the gulag, the amount of food you were given depended on the amount of wood you were able to log during each hellish work shift. For that, he was glad about the physical fitness which he had attained during his military career. Even as a tired and battered old man, he still managed to hold his own against the younger prisoners and secure enough food for himself.

Enough, he scoffed. Correction, the amount of food he got was sure as hell not _enough_. Even Andrei, a young Russian who usually logged the most wood among the rest, didn't get enough. Sooner of later, they all would starve to death.

Still, he was definitely in a better spot compared to some of the other prisoners. He knew of several of them who didn't get more than a mouthful of bread because they simply weren't fit enough to log more than a measly amount of wood every day. Those people had to resort to eating rats in their cells every night and most of them still ended up starving to death. He had seen one of their bodies at a river near the forest once, brutally thrown and left there by the guards.

He knew, however, that eventually, he was going to end up like them. After five years in the gulag, of excessive physical work and crappy food, his 45-year old body was breaking down. He could feel it every morning when he woke up. Already he could see a decrease in the amount of wood he logged every day. Perhaps in a year from now, he would be reduced to eating rats just like them. He thought of the rodents in his cell, scurrying around every night.

I'm coming for ya', he thought bitterly.

Why did he bother? Why didn't he just kill himself and end it all? he asked himself. After all, no one had come to rescue him. No one probably even knew he was alive. And what good would come of it even if he miraculously managed to escape this hell hole? His friends were all dead. There was nothing left for him in this world. Here in this place, he was merely rotting and waiting for the afterlife's embrace. Why not speed up the process and make it less painful?

He grimaced as he swallowed the last of the bread.

Not again, he thought. He had noticed that he thought about the same things every day in the gulag. No matter what, his thoughts would, some way or another, end up being about why he hadn't killed himself. As of now, he still had no idea why he hadn't committed the deed. After all, he had no reason not to. Maybe it was a basic instinct to stay alive, an instinct that all creatures possess. He didn't know. Or maybe he was too damned stupid, or too damned cowardly to end his goddamned life. Another theory that he had come up with was that he was somehow torturing himself without knowing it, believing that he deserved the punishment. After all, he had killed lots of people in his life, definitely more than he could count. He could think of several people who were probably in Hell right now, laughing at him.

What's the answer, he asked himself. As perverse as it sounded, he had resorted to theorizing about why he hadn't committed suicide to occupy himself. It was certainly better than dwelling on his past and fruitlessly wishing for someone to rescue him from this hell hole.

Sudden shouting drew his attention.

* * *

"Give me back my food! Please!" a woman pleaded.

She was clinging onto the arms of another prisoner, a tall, burly male with a scar across his right cheek. Prisoner 627 guessed that the man hadn't been here too long. All the prisoners in the gulag had the same look: extremely lean and skinny, and devoid of fat and muscle. The lack of nutrition simply meant that the body would not be able to preserve any muscular bulk.

"Fuck off, you bitch!"

Violently, the man swung his arms and knocked the woman away.

The guards merely stared. In the gulag, you were alone, and had to take care of yourself. Prisoner 627 had been used to that mindset even before he had got here, and had been able to defend himself when some of the prisoners tried to snatch his food during his first week in the gulag. They left him alone after that. It was amusingly similar to schoolyard, recess and bullies.

The woman fell weakly to the ground, tears streaming out of her eyes. No one moved to help her. Prisoner 627 felt a twinge of pity for her, and was surprised at it. The man who took her food walked off, munching on the bread with a smile on his lips. Gradually, the rest of the prisoners turned back to their food, and the guards went back to talking among themselves.

Prisoner 627 got up and moved to intercept the man, placing himself right in front of him. He was only a person of average size and stature, but in front of the man, he looked far smaller.

"Give her back her food." He said in Russian.

The man replied, a look of contempt on his face. "Get out of my way, old man."

Prisoner 627 stood his ground. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the guards looking his way. They were always excited about any infighting between the prisoners. Fights added life to their boring jobs.

"I said, fuck off!" the man yelled, his fist clenched in fury. His shout caught the attention of the prisoners, and now, everyone in the eating area was staring at them. The entire place was quiet.

When Prisoner 627 again didn't move, the man tossed the food to the ground and swung his fist. This was the chance that he had been waiting for. Eagerly, Prisoner 627 sidestepped the blow, and kicked the man hard in the groin, causing him to double over in pain.

At that very moment, all hell broke loose. Suddenly, shouting erupted from the prisoners, and everywhere, people were swinging fists and lunging at each other. Prisoner 627 was taken aback for a moment, but reacted just in time to dodge a kick from a man. Reacting instinctively, he punched the man in the jaw, knocking him out, and moved out of the path of an elbow coming from behind.

Two men lunged at him, but Prisoner 627 swung the edge of his palms against the men's' exposed throats, before tackling them out of the way. He didn't know why, but suddenly the adrenaline in his body was overflowing, and he felt _unstoppable_.

With a roar, he launched himself at the nearest prisoner, kicking him hard in the abdomen. Spinning around, he elbowed another man in the nose, causing blood to splatter, before finishing him off with a kick. The next prisoner was a woman, but he didn't care. He lunged at her, smashing her down onto the ground, and kneed her violently in her face, breaking her nose. Someone grabbed him from behind, and with another furious roar, he threw the person over his shoulder and smashed him hard against the ground, causing him to scream in pain.

He got up and continued fighting, oblivious to anything else. All the fear, despair, bitterness, anger and rage which he had felt for the past years were all coming out. The shouting of the other prisoners were just white noise to him. Nothing mattered anymore. He just wanted to fight. A part of him questioned what the hell was going on with him, but he pushed that thought aside. It was as if the sudden noise and violence had released the beast within him.

A large man grabbed him in a full nelson and pinned him down to the ground, putting his entire bodyweight onto him. Prisoner 627 struggled in vain, before viciously head butting his opponent in the nose, breaking it. The man faltered, and Prisoner 627 pushed himself up, moved behind the man and put his arms around his neck, squeezing as hard as he could.

He roared as he did so, pushing his arm muscles to their limit. The man struggled for a few seconds, before the lack of blood flow to his brain was too much and he fell unconscious. Immediately after, several of the prisoners charged towards him.

"Come on!" He shouted, and charged towards them.

They collided and fell onto a ground into a tangled heap. All the while, Prisoner 627 was kicking, elbowing and biting anyone who was near him, shouting incoherently as he did so. Eventually he got up, after breaking a man's jaw with an elbow. Someone tried to grab his leg, but with a snarl he stomped the person hard in the face, crushing facial bones.

"Stand down!" he heard a shout behind him.

He turned and saw one of the guards pointing his AK-47 at him. Without hesitation, Prisoner 627 launched himself towards the guard, and before the guard could react, kneed him hard in the solar plexus. The guard staggered and double over, before Prisoner 627 snatched the rifle away from him. He pointed the rifle towards the guard, finger on the trigger, and shouted, in English, "Die!"

"Put the gun down!" A voice laced with authority rang out.

Prisoner 627 froze. He was sudden aware that the room had gone quiet. Beside him, the head of the guards, Ivan, was standing with a pistol pointed at his head. His expression was calm, and he stood like a man with complete control of the situation. Behind Ivan, the rest of the guards struggled to subdue the rest of the prisoners, handcuffing them and pulling them back to their cells.

Prisoner 627 stood, panting and sweating, his finger still on the trigger of the AK-47. He should shoot the guard now. If he shot the guard, Ivan would most definitely shoot him. And when Ivan shot him, he would get his _freedom_. Freedom from this horrid place. Freedom from the misery, pain and sadness that assaulted him every day.

Looks like this is it, he thought.

"Don't do it…"

Prisoner 627 turned to see the woman he had helped crawling towards him. Her face was still wet with tears.

Sorry, missy. You're gonna' have to find yourself a new hero, he thought.

When he was distracted by the woman, Ivan suddenly sprang forward and knocked the rifle from his hands. Prisoner 627 was surprised for a moment, and reacted too slowly to dodge a powerful knee from Ivan. Ivan's knee collided with his solar plexus, and while he faltered due to the pain, Ivan grabbed his arm and put him in an armlock.

"Cuff him! And take him to solitary confinement!" Ivan ordered his men.

Solitary confinement?

"For what?" he asked, as he struggled to free himself.

He was surprised that Ivan bothered to reply.

"For protection." Ivan said, his back turned to him.

"I don't need protection!" he protested. The guards started to pull him away, despite his insistent struggling.

Ivan turned towards him, his eyes cold. "Not for you. For them."

He jabbed a finger towards the eating area. Only now did Prisoner 627 notice the damage he had caused.

The bodies of the prisoners covered the ground. Most of them were unconscious, while the rest were struggling to crawl towards aid. All of them were bloodied. Several were clutching various parts of their body, groaning and screaming in pain. One man, whom Prisoner 627 remembered elbowing, was clutching his bloodied face and screaming for someone to help him. In the middle of the floor lay the big man who had snatched the woman's food, unconscious. Prisoner 627 realized that he was the one whom he had choked out earlier.

Despondently, he allowed the guards to pull him away. When they reached his new cell, the guards flung him into it and slammed the door, leaving him alone in the darkness.

* * *

**I hope my portraying of Price was realistic enough. I tried to imagine how a person in Price's situation would feel, watching your closest friends die, then suddenly finding yourself alone in a Russian prison, where you have to face the daily violence and cruelty by yourself. On top of that, no one on the outside even knows whether you're alive or not. And even if you escape, so what? Everyone you care about is dead. There's nothing left to live for. **

**That was how I imagined Price's situation to be, and I think its enough to break even tough men like Price, hence the suicidal thoughts in this chapter.**

**It was certainly fun to write. Prison fight scenes are awesome! Also, it was nice to have a break from all the military orientated stuff that MW2 is centered on. **

**Anyone noticed the line from Batman Begins? I couldn't resist putting it in. **


	11. The Gulag

**Chapter 10 : The Gulag**

**07:42**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

"Sixth Fleet's mopping up. Time to move in." said Captain Mactavish, who was making some last minute adjustments to his M14.

A cool breeze blew past them. High above the ground, on board the Little Bird, Roach felt right at home. Before signing on for the SAS, he'd been a pilot in the British Royal Air Force, and had thoroughly enjoyed his job. For him, being in the air was exhilarating.

As another gust of wind hit them, Roach looked to his side. Miles away, the gulag sat, a dark and forbidding presence at the top of a snowy mountain. The building certainly looked formidable. Even from this distance, he could tell that it was huge, and shaped like a citadel, surrounded by several guard towers. He'd been told that SAM sites resided on the towers, and that the Americans would be taking them out just before they were due to be dropped off.

The gulag's location was perfect. If a prisoner managed to escape, he or she would have to scale down the mountain, and then make his or her way through the vast forests that surrounded it, before reaching the nearest city. The journey would take several days. Unless equipped with food supplies, which was unlikely in the case of an escaped prisoner, it was suicide.

Roach had never considered himself poetic, but at that moment, he likened the gulag to an old tree. He didn't know the complete history of the building, but one thing that he managed to glean from the reports was that it had been around for centuries. Old, and yet strong when faced with the effects of time and the elements, just like how an old oak tree in the middle of a forest would be. At the same time, the gulag wasn't like an old tree at all. It exuded a presence that chilled his spine. A cold pit of fear formed in Roach's stomach, but he quickly caught hold of himself, berating himself for being superstitious.

One thing was for certain, though. He had been to many fascinating places in the world, and the gulag was definitely going on that list, never mind the fact that it was a place of despair and death.

Captain Mactavish must have noticed his interest, for he suddenly said, "Long history, this building. Not much of it pretty."

When Roach looked his way, Mactavish continued.

"It started out as a castle with an actual dungeon. Built to withstand any siege. The building survived every brutal winter, but the _occupants_…they weren't so lucky. Over the last century, it's played host to anyone the government didn't want but couldn't kill. Place is filled with living casualties of the last war…which I swear I thought we'd won."

Roach listened intently, silent all the while. His thoughts were interrupted when the pilot suddenly said, "We're approaching the gulag, sir."

"Roger," replied Mactavish.

Steeling himself for the battle ahead, Roach put on his helmet and headset, completing the gesture by sliding his goggles over his eyes. Nervous with anticipation, he waited for the battle to start.

* * *

**07:49**

**Captain John "Soap" Mactavish**

**Task Force 141**

**40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

The F-15's missle collided with the guard tower, creating a huge explosion that blasted the tower to smithereens, bringing the SAM site along with it. The resulting air draft from the explosion forced the Little Bird back, causing it to lurch dangerously to its side. Instinctively, Mactavish grabbed onto the chopper to steady himself.

"Hang on!" the pilot said, as he struggled to bring the Little Bird back under control.

After a few moments, the Little Bird began to steady. Mactavish heaved a sigh of relief.

"Shepherd, get those fighters to cease fire immediately! That was too close!" he shouted into his receiver. At the same time, he turned to check on Roach and Worm, glad to note that they were unharmed.

"I'll try to buy you some time. One man in a gulag doesn't mean much to the Navy at this point." replied Shepherd.

The Americans were sure as hell eager to bomb the place. Mactavish couldn't blame them. After all, America was currently at war with Russia. The Americans were probably more concerned with using this attack as a foothold to invade Russia than with Makarov's capture. They certainly didn't give a damn about Prisoner 627. Only Shepherd's orders had stopped them from bombing the place outright.

"Bloody yanks." said Ghost. "I thought they were the good guys."

Before any conflicts could arise, Mactavish cut in, his tone harsh and severe. "Cut the chatter, Ghost! Stay frosty!"

Scanning the scene before him, he noted with satisfaction that all the SAM sites on the gulag had been destroyed. On the ground below, the Russian guards retreated back into the gulag, where they were preparing for their next defence.

"Pilot, we're clear! Put us down!" he told the pilot, and readied his MP5k.

As the Little Bird hovered towards the ground, Mactavish placed the M14 in the chopper, intending to leave it behind. A sniper rifle would be of limited use in the gulag, and it would only serve as extra weight if he carried it along.

The moment the Little Bird touched down, Mactavish scrambled out, together with Roach and Worm. A hundred metres away, Ghost and Peasant got out of their chopper, and started running towards them, just as the two Little Birds took off. The squad regrouped, and ran towards the entrance to the gulag's lower levels. Overhead, the American aircraft circled the gulag, momentarily ceasing fire.

They didn't have much time, noted Mactavish. Shepherd had ordered the Americans to back off until they had successfully extracted Prisoner 627, but there was no telling if the trigger happy Americans would start bombing the area early. They would have to do this fast.

"Go, go, go!" he pushed the squad forward, leading the way.

Jesus, the place reeked of death, he thought, as they passed what seemed to be an execution area laced with blood. The entrance was just beside the execution area, a dark tunnel leading to the lower levels of the gulag. Cautious and alert, they moved in, guns at the ready.

"This is it, team. We go in, grab Prisoner 627, and get out. Check your corners."

* * *

**07:55**

**Warden Ivan Petrov**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp**

******Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, **40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia

If there was ever a time when Ivan Petrov was completely taken aback, it would have to be now.

He had woken that morning, expecting the day to be one like any other, devoid of any special occurances. Sure, a few days ago there had been a huge fight between a group of prisoners during their lunch break, and a total of 37 of them had suffered wounds, both serious and minor. He had already sent the one responsible for starting the fight off to solitary confinement.

He had treated it as a one-of-a-kind occurance, something that would probably not happen again for a great number of years. Ivan had worked in this prison for close to a decade now and knew it what is. It was a boring place, filled with people that had sunk too deep into despair to put up any kind of fight or resistance.

Then, all of a sudden, the sound of approaching aircraft caught his attention, and when he looked out of the window, he saw dozens of squadrons of American aircraft flying towards them. Alarmed, Ivan had quickly ordered the guards to prepare the SAM sites, something which he foolishly thought he'd never have to do. But, as quickly as they had come, the American aircraft had destroyed the SAM sites without a thought, and had proceeded to assault the gulag with missles and bombs.

They were completely taken off guard.

It had made sense quickly. America was making its counter attack, moving its forces into Russia, unfortunately starting off with the gulag. However, instead of launching a full-scale assault that would have crippled the gulag quickly, the American aircraft had instead chosen to hang back after their initial assault. Ivan had found it puzzling, and was notified by one of the guards that soldiers were moving into the gulag. Reacting quickly, he deduced that the Americans were probably after a prisoner in the gulag, one that bore great importance to them. The place was filled with prisoners of war. Any one of them could be the target.

"We're doomed!" one of the guards had said.

Despite sending off an alarm a few minutes ago, the Russian military still hadn't arrived. And yet, the American forces had already started to penetrate the gulag. The situation in the gulag was chaotic. The guards had never faced such an attack before. Infighting between them erupted as they argued about what to do.

There was still hope, Ivan convinced himself. In total, there were several hundred guards employed in the gulag. They were not without weapons. They were not without the advantage of being in their own territory. And since the Americans were not bombing the area yet, they still had time to make a final stand. As long as they stood their ground and fought hard, they could still buy some time for themselves and for the Russian military to save them. With his flair for leadership, something he had always possessed, he brought the guards back into order, inspiring them with a short impromptu speech before sending them off to fight against the intruders. We Russians are not so easily conquered, he had said. He was glad that majority the Russian guards were still able to summon their will to fight. He had no tolerance for cowards.

Thinking fast, he ordered a few of the guards to come with him to go and execute the prisoners. If they were going to lose, he was going to make sure the Americans didn't win either.

* * *

**08:03**

**Captain John "Soap" Mactavish**

**Task Force 141**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, 40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

"Talk to me, Ghost. These cells are all deserted." said Mactavish, as he moved swiftly through the prison, eyes darting from left to right as he scanned for hostiles. Behind him, Worm and Peasant checked the cells.

"This one's empty." said Worm.

Mactavish cursed under his breath. Judging from the look of things, the Russian guards were exterminating the prisoners one by one, trying to deprive them of their target. He fervently hoped that Prisoner 627 hadn't been executed. Whoever he or she was, Prisoner 627 was, as of now, their only lead to Makarov. They couldn'tafford to lose that.

As if to counter that thought, Peasant's voice rang out. "This one's empty too."

Beside Mactavish, Roach swore, just as frustrated.

Suddenly, Ghost's voice rang out through Mactavish's earpiece.

"Got it! Prisoner 627's been transferred to the east wing, solitary confinement. Head through the armoury on your left. It's the fastest away there. And hurry. I'm seeing a huge group of guards heading your way."

When they had entered the lower levels of the gulag, they had stumbled upon a control room. Ghost had volunteered to stay there and hack the system, so that they could find Prisoner 627 much more quickly. His hacking also allowed him to pinpoint the position of the Russian guards, and warn the squad whenever they were about to stumble upon a group of them. It was a fortunate turn of events. Without it, they would have been forced to wander around the prison, searching every cell.

Mactavish led the squad towards the armoury, where the Russian guards stored their firearms and ammo. The room had three entrances, and was dark, just like the rest of the gulag. At the sides and centre of the room were rows and columns of various weapons.

"See anything you like?" he quipped, as they moved past the vast arrays of assault rifles, shotguns and pistols.

Suddenly, shouting could be heard. The squad readied their weapons.

"Careful," warned Ghost.

Then, without warning, the doors to two of the room's entrances burst open. Shouting erupted, and Russian guards emerged, firing their weapons. Mactavish reacted quickly, returning fire and dispatching two of them in less than a second. He continued firing, keeping the Russian guards back, but it was futile. They were numerous, and were crowding around the entrances, trapping the squad in. A heavy onslaught of bullets forced Mactavish behind cover, where he reloaded his MP5k.

A grenade rolled towards him, but Mactavish grabbed it and threw it back towards the guards. The explosion killed several of the guards, but they were quick to begin firing again. The sounds of their weapons firing filled the room, nearly deafening them. Under the intense barrage of fire, the squad was forced to hide behind cover.

"What do we do now, sir?" asked Roach, his voice barely audible above the loud gunfire.

Worm turned around and unleashed a three round burst towards the guards, before crouching just in time avoid a slew of bullets. He cursed.

"We're fucking screwed!"

Mactavish could hear the bullets burying themselves into the wall which he was crouching behind. His eyes fell onto a riot shield next to him.

"Grab a riot shield!" he shouted, as he picked the shield up.

The squad got his meaning fast, each of them picking up their own shields.

Mactavish looked towards the third entrance of the armoury. It was blocked by a thick metal gate, but it wasn't flanked by Russian guards. Quickly, he relayed instructions to Ghost.

"Ghost, I need you to open the door to the third entrance of the armoury, now!"

Beside him, Roach, Worm and Peasant laid down suppressing fire on the guards, trying their best to keep them from advancing. It was in vain. The guards were still pushing into the armoury. If they didn't act fast, they would soon corner them and it would all be over.

"Open the door!" Mactavish shouted in alarm.

"Got it!" replied Ghost, and the gate hissed open.

"Go, go, go!" yelled Mactavish.

The squad moved towards the entrance, bringing up their riot shields to protect themselves from the gunfire. Peasant was the first out, followed by Worm and Roach. Mactavish was a big man, but even he was having trouble shielding himself against the intense barrage of gunfire. As he moved towards the entrance, hundreds of bullets rammed into his riot shield, causing small cracks to appear on its surface. The shield was largely impenetrable against small arms fire, but it didn't look like it would be able to hold up for much longer. Just as Mactavish moved through the entrance, another grenade rolled towards him. Gritting his teeth, Mactavish held the shield as firmly as he could, preparing himself for the impact. The explosion knocked him back, but thanks to the shield, he was unharmed.

"Close the door!" he shouted.

While Worm and Peasant fired on the guards, Roach slammed the iron gate shut, telling Ghost to lock it. Then, without wasting any time, the squad moved out of the guard's line and fire and ran down the hallway, making their way towards the east wing and Prisoner 627.

* * *

**08:14**

**Warden Ivan Petrov**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, 40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

Ivan brought the AK-47 up, and fired three rounds into the woman, ending her miserable life.

Then, turning on his heels, he strode out of the cell. He motioned to one of the guards.

"How many left?" he asked.

"Three, sir. Two of them should be being executed right now. The only one left is 627." the guard replied.

Ivan turned away, deep in thought. Prisoner 627. He was the one that started the large fight a few days ago. For an old man, he was certainly skilled in fighting. More than skilled. Ivan didn't know what kind of training the man had went through, but one thing was for certain. He was dangerous.

"I'll go now and execute him myself, sir, if you'd like." the guard said, his arms already reaching for his AK-47.

Ivan stopped him. "No need. Tell the others to rejoin the fighting. I'll deal with 627."

Without another word, he strode off, his fingers curling eagerly around his rifle.

* * *

**08:15**

**Captain John "Soap" Mactavish**

**Task Force 141**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, 40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

Trust your instincts.

That was one thing Mactavish had learned during his time in the SAS. So when an uneasy chill fell over him in the middle of the battle, warning him that the situation was not what it seemed, he quickly ordered the squad to move back and retreat.

"What's wrong, sir?" asked Worm, as they moved to join Mactavish.

The squad was now in one of the gulag's shower rooms. Earlier on, Ghost had told them to cut through the shower room, saying that it was a shortcut to the east wing. They had planted a breaching charge one of the walls, destroying the wall and entering. Enemy resistance had been light and were quickly brought down. There were only a few more guards left up ahead. Right now, they just had to move in and kill them, before they would be able to get out of the shower room.

But something wasn't right. Mactavish couldn't make sense of it, but he knew better than to ignore his intuition. It was something that had saved him from many ambushes over the years.

Mactavish was scanning the shower room carefully, when suddenly, he noticed a red dot on Peasant's back.

"Look out!" he warned, but he was too late.

Peasant fell to the ground, blood seeping out of where the high calibre round had penetrated. Almost instantly, red dots appeared on the rest of the squad, including Mactavish. They only had a fraction of a second to react.

Mactavish dived aside to avoid the bullet, ducking behind a wall for cover. He glanced up, and saw several Russian guards on the second level, beams of red light flashing from their rifles. One of them spotted him, but Mactavish had already brought up his rifle and fired, killing the man.

More sniper fire erupted from the second level, nearly hitting Mactavish. The red dots swarmed the place, eager for their next kill. Mactavish emerged from cover to try and get a shot back at them, but before he could even aim down his sights, sniper fire had forced him back into cover once more.

He looked over to Roach, who was successfully returning fire back at the guards. Mactavish was surprised, noting that the lad had slung his ACR over his back and was using his G18 pistol to fight. Being a pistol, it was far lighter than an assault rifle, and with it, one could aim and fire much faster than a person with a rifle. Roach was using that to his advantage, slithering between and behind walls and firing at the guards whenever he had the chance. Already he had taken out two of them, his accuracy dead on with every shot.

Mactavish was impressed.

Taking his cue, Mactavish and Worm pulled out their own pistols. The tactic was more suited for Roach, whose size and agility gave him an advantage. Still, Mactavish didn't falter, and aggressively fired whenever he had the chance. The three of them made their way towards the other side of the shower room as they fired, intending to escape as soon as possible. Pulling out a smoke grenade, Worm popped smoke, covering their movement.

With the smoke covering them, they couldn't see the guards anymore, but neither could the guards see them. Turning around, they bolted towards the shower room's exit.

Just after they exited, however, there was a sudden rumble and the building shook. Mactavish ignored it and continued running. Then, the building shook again and suddenly, the sound of an explosion echoed through the prison. In a flash, Mactavish was knocked to his feet, just like the rest of the squad. He knew what this meant.

_The Americans had started the bombardment._

* * *

**08:19**

**Prisoner 627(Identity unknown)**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, 40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

Prisoner 627 could hardly believe what was happening. Nearly half an hour ago, he had woken to the startling sounds of explosions and gunfire. The sounds continued for a while, when suddenly, the explosions stopped. The gunfire could still be heard, though and looked to be coming closer to his position.

What was this, an attack on the gulag? Prisoner 627 couldn't make sense of it.

He had tried calling for the guards to get an idea of what the hell was happening, both in Russian and English, but no one responded. Here in his new cell, he was alone. He paced the room, too anxious to sit or relax. Perhaps in a normal day, he would have been struggling to cope with his hunger, but now, all he cared about was knowing what was going on.

He didn't wince when the explosions started again, already used to them. The building shook with each explosion, threatening to collapse. Above the sound of the explosions, Prisoner 627 caught the sound of footsteps heading his way. Nervously, he looked towards the door to his cell.

With a grunt, the door was unlocked. It swung open.

"Ivan." said Prisoner 627, glancing at the man in front of him.

Ivan didn't reply. Instead, he brought up his AK-47, and prepared to fire.

* * *

**08:20**

**Captain John "Soap" Mactavish**

**Task Force 141**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, 40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

"Shepherd, what the hell was that? Get the Navy to cease fire!" shouted Mactavish angrily.

Shepherd replied curtly. "They've started the bombardment early. How close are you to 627?"

"We're outside his cell right now, preparing to breach."

"Affirmative. I'll try to buy you more time."

Mactavish understood why the Navy was bombing the area early, despite Shepherd's orders. Technically, Shepherd didn't have command over the Navy. He only commanded the U.S. Army Rangers as well as the Task Force 141, and was working with the Navy's Chief of Naval Operations (CNO) in this attack. Ultimately, the Navy took orders from their CNO, and not Shepherd.

The squad was now beside a thick concrete wall. According to Ghost, beyond the wall was Prisoner 627's cell.

"I'm detecting two heat signatures. One of them should be Prisoner 627." said Ghost.

At Mactavish's signal, Roach planted a breaching charge on the wall. Within seconds, the charge exploded, bringing down a section of the wall and creating a hole in it. Dust from the debris filled the air, and the three of them charged through it, rifles at the ready.

Roach was in first. Just like Ghost had said, there two men in the middle of the room. The first was clad in a uniform almost identical to that of the guards, but with more symbols and insignias to indicate a higher rank. He was holding an AK-47, but was unable to use it as the second man, whom Mactavish presumed to be Prisoner 627, was strangling him with a pair of handcuffs. At their arrival, Prisoner 627 had reacted quickly, pushing the Russian guard against Roach as a distraction, before lunging forward and punching him hard.

Roach staggered and fell back onto the floor. Panting hard, Prisoner 627 snatched the AK-47 from the guard and pointed it down at Roach.

* * *

**08:20**

**Prisoner 627**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, 40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

Prisoner 627 stopped himself from shooting just in the nick of time. He looked down at the newcomer in surprise.

The man was garbed in military wear, with a rifle which in his hands. On his head was a helmet and goggles, along with a headset. But that was not the most striking thing about him.

The most striking thing, was that the man wasn't Russian, as Prisoner 627 expected him to be.

He was _Caucasian_.

The man looked up at him, his expression wary, but not fearful.

"Who are you, and what the hell do you want?" he wanted to ask, but he noticed that the man wasn't looking at him. He followed the man's gaze, and sensed a second man walking up to him from the side. Before Prisoner 627 could react, he had pressed a pistol against his temple.

"Drop it."

At the sound of the second man's voice, Prisoner 627's eyes widened.

It was laced with an all-too-familiar Scottish accent.

He gasped.

"Soap…?"

* * *

**08:20**

**Captain John "Soap" Mactavish**

**Task Force 141**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, 40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

While Worm went to finish off the Russian guard, Mactavish moved towards Prisoner 627, pulling out his pistol. The prisoner sensed the movement, and was about to turn and point his AK-47 at him, but was too late. Mactavish had already pressed the muzzle of his M1911 at the man's temple.

"Drop it." Mactavish commanded.

Prisoner 627 was no ordinary man. He had reacted quickly to their arrival, much more quickly than an average man would.

Strangely, though, the moment he spoke, something seemed to have sparked in the prisoner. Prisoner 627 stiffened, as if struck by something unexpected. Then, the prisoner spoke.

"Soap…?"

Mactavish's heart skipped a beat.

_That voice..._

"…Price…?"

* * *

**I'm really, really sorry for the amount of time I took to write this chapter. Usually I try to update once a week, but I was suffering from a pretty severe case of writer's block when I wrote this chapter. **

**The writer's block was bad enough to cause me to be really unsatisfied with whatever I wrote. I would write a few paragraphs, read them, and then delete everything because I wasn't satisfied. This would continue on for several times. I admit that I entertained the idea of putting the story on hiatus for a while, until I could get my "flow" back, so to speak. Now I'm glad that it didn't happen.**

**Still, I hope this chapter was entertaining enough to make up for it!**


	12. Captain Price

**Chapter 11: Captain Price**

**08:23**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**Petropavlovsk Corrective Labour Camp, 40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

"Ghost, the entire building's coming down! Get out of there now!" shouted Roach into his receiver.

"Roger!" came the reply.

Roach sprinted through the tunnel, debris falling all around him. The weight of his ACR and body armour was completely irrelevant to him as he ran hard for his life. Behind, the tunnel started to collapse, threatening to bury the entire squad with its debris.

"There's the chopper, get ready to jump!" shouted Mactavish, who was leading the way. At the tunnel's exit ahead, the chopper waited, hovering in the air.

They only had 50 more metres to cover, when suddenly, a loud explosion sounded. Ringing buzzed in Roach's ears as the building shook. Without warning, the section of the tunnel ahead of them collapsed, sending huge piles of debris falling. Roach skidded to a halt, just in time to avoid being crushed.

"Back, back!" yelled Worm.

The four of them turned and ran back towards where they came from. Panic surged through Roach when he saw that that section of the tunnel was collapsing as well. They were trapped, and were about to be buried in piles of debris unless they did something fast. Roach looked around, desperately hoping for another way out. His eyes fell onto a narrow passage to the right.

Mactavish must have spotted the passage way first, for he was already shouting, "This way, this way!"

The four of them bolted through the new section of the tunnel, narrowly escaping being crushed. For a moment, Roach felt a surge of relief, but it was immediately crushed when they approached the end of the passage. The area looked to be a destroyed cafeteria, with no other exits. At the middle of the cafeteria, a large ray of sunlight shining from above illuminated a bomb.

"It's a dead end!" said Worm in alarm, as he frantically moved about, looking in vain for an exit.

Roach looked up at the hole in the ceiling, where the bomb had been dropped through. Through the hole he could see American fighter aircraft flying against the blue sky. The noise of the bombardment was deafening.

Beside him, Mactavish was yelling into his receiver. "Six-Four, where the hell are you, over!"

The pilot replied, his voice frantic. "Bravo six, there's too much smoke, I can't see you, I can't see you –"

Suddenly, a huge brick fell from above, colliding with Roach's head.

"Roach is down! Roach!"

Mactavish's words were the last thing Roach heard before everything went black.

* * *

The face of Prisoner 627 greeted him when Roach regained consciousness. Without a word, the prisoner shoved pieces of rubble off him, before reaching down to help him up. Roach took his arm gratefully, putting aside his suspicions of the man for the moment.

Roach felt his helmet, relieved to see that it was still intact. It had protected him from most of the damage from the falling rubble. Then, he looked around for his ACR, when he realized that Mactavish was holding it, temporarily abandoning his MP5k. The Captain was standing directly below the hole in the ceiling, bathed in the sunlight. He was switching to the M203 grenadier attachment on the ACR, an expression of intense focus and determination on his face.

"Whatever you're gonna' do, Soap, do it fast!" shouted Prisoner 627, when the building shook once more.

Captain Mactavish aimed the grenadier at the hole in the ceiling, and fired. Red flares burst out from the ACR, illuminating the entire area with red light. Then the flares launched themselves into the sky.

Roach watched with admiration, somewhat embarrassed by his accident earlier. Mactavish was able to think clearly even under intense pressure. _This _was the type of soldier and man which Roach aspired to be.

"Bravo six, I see your flare. SPIE rig on the way." the pilot's voice rang through Roach's headset, bringing him back to the present moment.

In a few seconds, the SPIE rig had arrived, just as the building shook again and threatened to crumble. It was only a matter of seconds before it would collapse. Struggling not to panic, Roach hastily hooked himself onto the SPIE rig. Once everyone was secure, the four of them were pulled upwards, through the hole in the ceiling and into the air above. The intense noise of the bombs assaulted him as Roach was launched into the air. He looked down just in time to see the last remnants of the gulag crumble. The prison was all but decimated.

Above Roach, Prisoner 627's voice rang out above the noise of the explosions.

"_FREEDOM!_"

* * *

**11:30**

**Sgt. Gary "Roach" Sanderson**

**Task Force 141**

**Task Force 141 headquarters (Location classified)**

Roach yawned, stretching his muscles as he did so. He was exhausted, and ready to sleep. Since the missions which he participated in varied greatly in time, he had naturally gained the ability to sleep whenever he wanted, just like the other soldiers of the Task Force 141. He resolved to do so once he was done with his sandwich. Chewing on the bread, he snorted as he looked up at the television set.

Bloody dramas, he thought. They were only a blatant reminder of what they would never have: a normal life. But Roach didn't care for a normal life; if he did, he wouldn't have joined the military. The action-packed nature of a SpecOps soldier's life appealed to him, though its appeal was starting to die down as he lost more and more of his friends. He'd still remembered attending Royce's funeral, his heart heavy and knowing that this would probably not be the last friend he would lose.

Ghost walked into the lounge, bringing Roach back to the present.

Ghost had escaped the gulag alone during the bombardment, going back the way the squad had entered. He slipped into the seat beside Roach, and began to pour whiskey into his glass. Taking a sip, he said, "So, what do you think of 627?"

Swallowing the last of his sandwich, Roach recounted the search through the gulag and the eventual finding of Prisoner 627. Ghost listened quietly, gulping down his whisky every now and then.

"Mactavish seems to know him. I heard him call 627 'Price'. The name ring any bells?" asked Roach.

Ghost raised an eyebrow, and frowned, taking another gulp of his whisky. Roach kept silent, knowing that Ghost was deep in thought. He knew better than to disturb Ghost when he was thinking. After a moment, Ghost said, "I've heard it before, but I can't remember where. Price…"

Roach was intrigued by the mystery. When the squad had returned to base, Mactavish and this so-called "Price" had stalked off, engaged in a deep conversation. They had been gone for about an hour now. Whoever "Price" was, he and Mactavish certainly had a lot to talk about.

And since Ghost claimed to have heard about him before, perhaps this "Price" was related to the SAS. "Price" was certainly no ordinary man. When they had breached his cell, they had found him strangling a Russian guard with his handcuffs. Roach had seen the look on his face, and knew instantly that "Price" was completely willing to kill the Russian guard right there with no qualms at all. A regular civilian man would never be able to do that. Yes, he or she would probably kill if given the right motivation and put under the correct circumstances, but not with the cold and precise manner in "Price" had attempted to do so.

Roach looked up at the television screen, where the male lead in the drama was engaged in a romantic conversation with the female lead. He almost laughed. Yes, the ordinary civilian wanker would definitely not be able to do what "Price" did. To have such a nonchalant outlook on killing, this "Price" must have taken a lot of lives before. For a person who was somehow connected to Vladimir Makarov, that wasn't much of a surprise. Perhaps he was a terrorist, or a soldier, even.

"I guess we'll just have to wait for Mactavish to tell us." said Roach.

Ghost didn't look convinced. "Well, if you're gonna' sit here and watch soap dramas, that's fine by me. I'm gonna' go run a search on him."

He gulped down the last of his whisky and got up, moving out of the lounge. Roach stared after him, and wondered if he should follow. Looking back at the television screen, he made up his mind. Turning the television off, he got up and moved to catch up.

* * *

"Captain John Price."

Roach looked at the image of Price on the screen. He was younger in the picture, and his hair wasn't completely grey yet, but it was him.

Ghost scrolled down the page. "Quite a resume."

The man had a long history. Enlisted in the British Army in 1990. Successfully completed SAS selection in 1994. What followed was a long list of operations, some of them which Roach had heard of during his time in the SAS. One of them stood out.

1996, sent to Chernobyl, Ukraine with Captain Macmillan on a covert op. Mission objective: assasinate Imran Zakhaev. Mission failed, with Zakhaev wounded but not killed.

Imran Zakhaev. Makarov's mentor.

His interest piqued, Roach continued reading, his eyes scanning through the long list of missions. He stopped at the last few.

2011, Northern Azerbaijan, Russia. Mission objective: Find and apprehend Khaled Al-Asad. Ended in Al-Asad's death.

2011, Southern Russia. Mission objective: Apprehend Victor Zakhaev. Ended in Victor Zakhaev's death.

2011, Altay Mountains, Russia. Mission objective: Prevent the launch of nuclear missles. Mission success. Ended in Imran Zakhaev's death and the loss of Bravo squad, except for John Mactavish. Was rescued by Russian Loyalist forces, but could not be found after. Classified as MIA.

Roach's eyes widened in surprise at the revelation. Prisoner 627 was Captain Price, Mactavish's old captain. No wonder they recognized each other, thought Roach. He connected the dots in his head. So that was why, according to Rojas, Makarov hated Price with a vengeance. He had been the one who orchestrated the downfall of Imran Zakhaev.

"So that's why I found his name so familiar. That mission was hot news five years ago. Everyone in Credenhill was talking about it." said Ghost.

Roach nodded. He hadn't joined the SAS yet at that time, but his old buddies had told him about that legendary mission when he joined, where the launch of several nuclear missles was stopped just in the nick of time and an entire squad, including one U.S. Marine, was wiped out while trying to escape Zakhaev's forces. Mactavish had became a hero after the mission, being the one who had shot and killed Imran Zakhaev and the only one who had survived.

Roach didn't know what to say. On one hand, it was good that they had rescued a fellow SAS man from the gulag. On the other hand, he hadn't forgotten why they had been sent in to apprehend Price in the first place. The plan was to use Prisoner 627 as bait to draw Makarov out. Roach didn't like the idea of using a fellow soldier like this. He didn't know Price personally, but the man had gone through the same long, tough and agonising selection process as him. For that reason alone, Roach knew he would willingly entrust his life to Price. SAS men were varied in personalities, and many of them didn't get along, but they all knew they could count on each other. That sense of brotherhood was not found in the civilian world.

Roach suspected Mactavish would object to it too, seeing that Price was his captain. It would have been easier if Prisoner 627 had been scum like Makarov.

Ghost's cell phone suddenly rang. He picked it up.

"Alright, we'll meet you there." he said, before cutting the call.

Ghost turned towards Roach. "Mactavish says he wants to meet us at the briefing room. Let's go."

They shut down the computer, but before closing the window, Roach took one last look at the page. It listed Price's status as MIA.

Not anymore, thought Roach.


End file.
